


Unwavering Symphony

by Old But Fine (redcherrychocolate)



Category: Final Fantasy X-2
Genre: Bevelle-Zanarkand War, F/M, Pre-Canon, Zanarkand, summoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-28
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 127,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcherrychocolate/pseuds/Old%20But%20Fine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every story has an ending. Not all of them are happy ones. Thus is the story of two cursed lovers: Shuyin and Lenne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started several years ago after a blast of inspiration that led to me writing Shuyin and Lenne's story, from the beginning that we never see to the end that we know. It was six years in the works before its final chapters were completed. Therefore, you may notice a difference in writing style, and likely quality as chapters continue. Hopefully it's something that will still strike the fancy of you, the reader, and is a story that you will enjoy.

_Every story has an ending._

_Not all of them are happy ones._

\---

“…Oh! Shuyin and Uada go crashing into the stands! From the looks of it, Shuyin _really_ wants Uada out of this game. But…yes! Uada’s already back up and on the platform. Looks like Shuyin’s the one who’s worse for wear here!”

From his position sprawled out across the floor of the stands, Shuyin made a mental note to hurt the commentator after the match.

He had never really intended to go tumbling into the stands in the middle of the game. After all, if he had learned anything from his years of playing blitzball, it was that the game gave a person plenty enough bruises on its own. One really didn’t need to add the ache of crashing into the steel floor to the equation.

The blitzer groaned loudly and climbed to his feet amongst a crowd of clamoring fans. He rubbed his sore back, already beginning his mental preparations for how he was going to feel in the morning as a result. A grimace on his face, he looked up at the colossal sphere of water just in time to see the opposing team score. Above, near the top of the sphere, the scoreboard flashed once, changing the numbers to display six points for the Abes, and seven points for the Strikers.

‘Damn,’ thought Shuyin, pushing through the crowd of people to reach the front row. From there, he could reach the platform to reenter the sphere. Uada, the guy he had tackled, had already returned to his position in the formation. This was signaled by applause from the Striker supporters.

As he reached the platform and stood upon it, Shuyin looked back up at the scoreboard to check the clock. To his dread, only about a half a minute remained on the clock, and the Abes were nowhere near the goal.

With a sort of swiftness only a blitzer could possess, Shuyin dove head first back into the sphere, and shot toward where the Strikers held the ball between them, running the clock. As if from somewhere far away, he could hear the commentator saying his name, echoing in the water in that strange and yet all-to-familiar way. However, he had far more important things to worry about now. Setting his sights on the player with the ball, he charged, slamming into the player considerably harder than he should have. He grabbed for the ball as it sailed from the other player’s hands, wrapping greedy fingers around the bumpy surface. Then, just as quickly, it went sailing through the water to Yasuo, a fellow Abe much closer to the goal.

Jetting through the water as if more fish than human, Shuyin could hear the crowd counting down. 14, 13, 12, 11, 10…The ball was nearly at the goal now…9, 8, 7, 6…Yasuo just dodged a charging Striker…5, 4, 3, 2…Yasuo reeled back and took the shot, firing the ball with enough force to send him spiraling forward on the follow through. 1…and the ball was clamped tightly in the goalkeeper's waiting hands.

“No!” shouted Shuyin. At the same time, the scream of a siren filled the stadium and sphere, successfully ending the game in the Strikers’ favor. A moment later, the siren was met with an equally loud wail of applause from the Striker supporters. It was loud enough in fact to deafen the Abes supporters’ groans of disappointment.

Shuyin shouted in frustration, jerking at his hair with ferocity. They’d been so _close_. His teammates seemed equally frustrated, though most decided to take the less self-destructive approach of floating through the water in an absent and defeated manner.

After a moment or two of this, the captain lifted a hand, gesturing for her team to head for the locker room. They complied, and as Shuyin was exiting the sphere and shaking the water from his hair, he heard the commentator mention something about the Abes. Though he wasn’t able to catch it, he was certain it was far from encouraging when the Abes fans started to boo and hiss. As Shuyin pushed through the doors into the locker room, he once again noted to get even with that man sometime soon.

\---

“You staying for the show?” asked Yasuo, standing next to Shuyin’s locker as he dried off his hair.

“Hm?” muttered Shuyin, unfastening one of his shoulder pads and stuffing it in his bag.

“The concert,” Yasuo answered, knocking Shuyin in the arm to get his attention. “You know, the one I told you about weeks ago?”

Groaning, Shuyin began undoing the strap on his other shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t into that kind of thing?”

“Well, I was never too good at remembering things.”

The next thing Shuyin knew, a bit of paper had been stuffed into his hand. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was a ticket. Turning an annoyed eye Yasuo’s way, Shuyin sighed heavily.

“Yasuo, I’m _really_ not in the mood for this…”

“Exactly. After a loss like that, you’ve got to have a little fun. Get rid of the blues.”

“ _Yasuo_ …”

“Come on, you’ll like the performer. She’s _really_ cute.”

Another heavy sigh. “Fine,” muttered Shuyin, rubbing his forehead and stuffing the last of his equipment into the bag. “Who’s performing again?” he asked as they headed for the locker room doors.

“A songstress named Lenne. She’s gotten pretty popular over the last year.”

“Oh yeah. I think I heard of her somewhere.”

\---

After several minutes of pushing through the crowd, the two blitzers finally collapsed into their less-than-comfortable seats, ready to watch the show. As impossible as it seemed, Shuyin wanted to be there even less than he had ten minutes previous. The jeering of aggravated Abes supporters and just as cocky Striker fans assured him that he would be much more content were he home, where he could break a few things and then feel better by morning. But, with the crowd still ready to pelt him with insults, he thought it best not to risk the journey toward the exit. He had but a few good nerves left, and if they were to break, he was liable to start a brawl right there in the stadium. Not exactly good publicity.

Rubbing the corners of his eyes, he turned his head down toward where the sphere use to be. Already the water had been cleared away, and a large, circular stage has risen up to take its place. The spotlight shining upon it made the emptiness of the platform obvious, giving way to a bit of confusion among the stands. Then, there was a small explosion in the center of the stage, artificial smoke spreading out from the source to fill the entirety of the stage. Some of the more easily surprised concertgoers gasped, momentarily stunned. However, those gasps quickly turned to screams of delight as a figure came striding out of the smoke. This, Shuyin guessed, must be Lenne.

Shuyin had to admit that she was attractive. The combination of styled brunette hair, a simple figure, and a nice-looking outfit made sure of this. Her appearance probably took several hours of a decent-sized staff’s time to perfect.

As she walked to the edge of the stage, a bright smile lit her face, though it was unlikely that many people could see it. Suddenly, more spotlights joined the first, encompassing the entire stage. Simultaneously, the blare of computer-enhanced instrumentals resounded through the stadium and out into the open air above. In time with the beat, Lenne quickly started into a fast-paced dance, one that was obviously rigorously choreographed to look as if it was thought up on the spot. Then, relaxing on the dance steps momentarily, she held the microphone up, and began to sing.

“For the longest time, I couldn’t but think that love had turned its back on me . . .”

The shouts of the crowd immediately increased ten-fold, and Shuyin had to strain to hear the music. Within a few seconds though, it had quieted enough for him to hear more clearly.

“And how silly I found I had been when I looked back and saw you,” she sang, swinging her body back and forth artfully, knowing somehow exactly how to move without seeming too enticing. Apparently, she’d been doing this for quite a while.

He wasn’t sure why this was apparent to him over everything else, but it seemed as if she really was enjoying herself. Not as though other celebrities didn’t have fun during their performances, but she seemed hardly short of elated. It could well have been a façade to please the audience and make the experience more enjoyable for them, but for some reason it didn’t strike him as such. Maybe he was just tired. At any rate, be it genuine or fake, the happiness that she was spreading through the crowd did help improve his mood, if only an iota.

“So, what do you think?” Yasuo shouted over the clamor, bringing Shuyin’s attention away from the songstress. “Not bad, is she?”

Shuyin looked back up at the stage as the song ended with a computerized ringing and the crowd burst into wild applause. This in turn was met by another bright smile from Lenne. Shuyin shrugged. “She’s all right,” he said indifferently.

Then, the crowd began to quiet as the soft melody of a xylophone began to play. Lenne, meanwhile, had bowed her head and clasped the microphone in both hands, waiting patiently for when she would be permitted to sing again. All but one of the spotlights dimmed and went out, leaving Lenne standing in a circle of white light, unmoving. This song was obviously going to be a quieter, less energetic ballad than the last. Or, it would have been, if the siren hadn’t gone off at just that moment.

In comparison to the gentle melody that was currently playing, the siren was much like a foghorn going off in a library. The music faltered immediately and the members of the crowd looked around, shocked and frightened. Lenne too looked horrified, and with a brief wave to the crowd that was no longer watching her, she darted from the stage, very nearly vaulting off the edge of the platform.

By now, a voice that was all-too familiar to all of Zanarkand’s residents was accompanying the screaming siren. “This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Please return to your homes or residential safe house until further instructions are given. To repeat…”

Shuyin gave a loud groan as people began getting to their feet and rushing toward the exits. He’d lost track of the amount of times that that particular alarm had gone off in the past few months, and it was becoming steadily more maddening each time. As everyone in Zanarkand now knew, that siren indicated that forces from Bevelle were headed toward them.

“Come on,” said Yasuo, though the din of the stadium made it difficult to hear him. “There should be a safe house somewhere around here.”   


	2. Chapter 2

Though virtually every business, restaurant, and shop in Zanarkand was dubbed a safe house during these times of alarm, it took nearly twenty minutes and two blocks for Yasuo and Shuyin to finally find a place to lay low.

“I could’ve just gone home,” Shuyin grumbled from his position pressed up against the wall of a small bookstore. “But _no_. I had to stay with _you_.”

Yasuo, who had been busying himself reading a book on the mechanics of florescent lightning, looked up at Shuyin with a raised eyebrow. “Are you seriously going to blame all this on me?”

“Yes,” Shuyin replied stubbornly, holding his head in his hand as he stared at the wall. A sigh was Yasuo’s only response as he turned back to his book.

After what seemed like a century of waiting (which any amount of time will feel like if you’re counting the seconds as Shuyin was), the booming voice rang out, announcing that the threat had passed. Tentatively, much like animals fearing a predator’s attack, people began to emerge from the shops and businesses. Shuyin, irritated and all too ready to get out of the shop, resorted to pushing and shoving through the crowd to get out. This left Yasuo to apologize to those people that Shuyin had irritated in the process. 

Stepping out into the street, Shuyin took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Where it had been a vibrant orange upon their exiting the stadium, it was now much closer to black. All around, lights were springing to life, illuminating the streets as bright as if it were noontime. Zanarkand wasn’t a city prone to shutting down for the night.

Even with this contrast to distract him, Shuyin was able to notice a particularly dark shape towering high into the sky over the tops of the buildings. Giving it his full attention, he realized that it was a rising pillar of smoke. Apparently, wherever the conflict had taken place, it hadn’t ended very well.

“Hey,” said Yasuo, grabbing Shuyin’s shoulder and steering him the opposite direction. “Two disasters in one day? This calls for a drink.”

“No way,” Shuyin responded immediately, quickly ducking out from under Yasuo’s arm and turning the other direction. “You’ve already dragged me into one fiasco. Now, I’m going to go home, go to bed, and hope that this entire day was a nightmare. That’s what it’s felt like, anyway.”

“Ah, come on Shuyin,” Yasuo griped, “It’s no fun going by myself.”

“Good,” responded Shuyin. “Maybe you won’t show up on my doorstep again, like the last five times you’ve gotten yourself smashed.”

With a sigh and a resigned smile, Yasuo said, “You really are no fun, you know.”

Shaking his head, Shuyin gave Yasuo a brief wave, and then started the walk home. 

\---

Even if he didn’t understand the finer points of real estate, Shuyin did grasp the ‘location, location, location’ concept. His apartment, while modest in size and exactly like its neighbors, resided in one of the seaside building complexes. Not only did this give him a good view out of his apartment window, it also made it possible for him to avoid walking the streets to get home. Thus, he was able to evade both disappointed Abe fans and arrogant Striker devotees alike.

Under normal circumstances, it probably would have been a nice walk. By Zanarkand standards it was rather quiet, the only sounds being the hum of activity that reverberated through the streets and the crashing of the waves. However, not one hundred yards from his complex, his path was hindered by a long strip of red tape. Beyond was a scene that, though quelling his curiosity about the source of the pillar of smoke, did nothing for his anger and disgust.

Two destroyed hovers, both built for two, were splayed across the beach. From the marks, burnt sand, and bits of metal and plastic left behind, Shuyin could only guess that the drivers had not been able to avoid a crash. Between the smashed machines, people were rushing back and forth, looking frantic. Some were casting spells to light the area more clearly, others were forcing potions down the throats of injured peers, and still others were laying bodies in a line away from the massacre. Obviously, this assault had not been without casualties.

Upon closer inspection, Shuyin noticed the odd clothing that most of the people wore, and recognized it as temple attire. These, as it would seem, were the priests and the summoners. He knew little about either, since they didn’t have a large effect on Zanarkand directly. He knew them by sight only, and with their various sorts of gaudy clothing, he could tell that it was them.

“Sorry,” said a firm voice from off to Shuyin’s left. “Citizens are prohibited from entering this area.”

Turning toward the voice, Shuyin spotted what he assumed was a girl coming towards him. She was dressed in a long robe, the white fabric that comprised it contrasted by vibrant strips of red and yellow rimming the collar and large hood. Her face was hidden beneath said hood, so he could not get a good look at her. Around her middle a rope was hastily tied, securing what appeared to be a flamboyant walking stick to her back.

“Please leave,” she said simply, stopping a few feet away from the tape that separated them. Absently, Shuyin noticed that she actually appeared to be making an effort to keep her face hidden. Before he could reply however, he noticed another person—a priest, from the looks of it—walking up behind the girl.

“Lenne,” he called, quickly getting the girl’s and Shuyin’s attention. Lenne?

“You really should get home,” said the priest, resting his hand on the girl’s shoulder and not paying the slightest bit of attention to Shuyin. “We’ve got the situation covered here. You need to treat that burn.”

“It’s not that bad,” she muttered, her fingers briefly touching her face, and then quickly twitching away. “A remedy will take care of it.”

“I’m afraid that all I can offer you is this,” said the priest apologetically, producing a small bottle of blue potion from the folds of his robes. “We’re rather short on recovery items at the moment. . .”

“That’s all right,” said Lenne, holding her hands out and carefully taking it from him. “I wasn’t hurt that badly.” Quickly, she bowed her head. “Thank you very much.”

The priest nodded in response, waving a hand that she most likely couldn’t see. “You’re dismissed.” This was met with a swift nod from Lenne before she ducked under the tape and walked briskly down the beach, in what Shuyin assumed was the direction of her home. He watched her departing figure for a moment, his eyes narrowed in consideration. What were the odds that this was the same Lenne that he had seen at the concert? Was it possible that this no-nonsense summoner and the carefree girl he had seen on the stage at the stadium were the same person? Now that he thought about it, Lenne had left the stadium in quite a hurry. . .

“Can I help you?” said the priest in a stern voice, apparently noticing Shuyin for the first time. Promptly, Shuyin snapped back to reality. He turned to look to the priest, then back to the retreating summoner, and again to the priest.

“No, I’m fine,” Shuyin responded, purposefully ignoring the look that the man was giving him. Apparently, this guy was protective of his cohorts. With that, Shuyin turned away from the priest and jogged after Lenne, leaving the aggravated man to mutter curses under his breath.

\---

Producing a light sphere from the pocket of her robes and shaking it a bit to get it working, Lenne held part of her hair up so that she could assess the damage done to it more clearly. Most of the bottom few inches of it had been badly burned, the strands twisted and black beyond repair. Along with that came the rancid smell of burnt hair, forcing Lenne to screw up her face to avoid it. She would have to cut it off, she knew. It wouldn’t be a problem though; her hair was plenty long even without the extra inch or so. Still, at least brooding over her hair kept her mind off of her scarred face.

“Hey,” said a voice from behind her, accompanied by a quick tap upon her shoulder. Startled, Lenne stumbled a little before regaining her composure and turning to acknowledge whomever it was that was behind her. Adjusting the position of the sphere to see more clearly, she found the blonde boy from earlier walking behind her.

“Yes?” she asked, somewhat surprised and rather curious as to why he was following her. Slowly, she lowered her free hand, ready to grab her staff. Before she could complete the action however, she found herself staring at a clear, oddly shaped bottle filled with sea-green liquid. Immediately, she recognized it to be a remedy.

“For your burn,” he said, squinting to try and get a better look at her face. Lenne blinked at the bottle for a moment, then quickly tried to push it back at him.

“No . . . you don’t have to do that. I’ve got a few at home.”

“By the time you get there, it might not heal all the way,” he said firmly, pushing it back at her. Reluctantly, Lenne submitted. Gently uncorking the bottle, she put it to her lips, gulping down the sour liquid inside. Almost immediately, she could feel the heat in her face receding, as well as the pain that accompanied the injury.

“Besides,” said the blonde boy as she drank down the substance, “wouldn’t you have to put off your concerts if it lasted?”

Lenne paused for a moment, then began drinking considerably slower.

“You are that Lenne, aren’t you?” The blonde pressed, again trying to get a look at her face. By now, the bottle was empty, eliminating her only means of avoiding the question. She pulled it away from her lips, corking it silently.

“Yeah,” she admitted quietly, though she still didn’t look at him. By now, it was becoming apparent that he was a fan of hers. Any other time, she would have loved to speak to him. She was, after all, rather fond of her fans. However, after the attack and the resulting chaos, she was scarcely in the mood for it.

“You’re a summoner, huh?” he said, turning to look toward the buildings. A nod was her response. “You’re multi-talented,” he said simply, and then joined Lenne in her silence. For a moment or two, all that could be heard was the buzz of the city and the sound of their shoes on the sand. Lenne timidly fidgeted with the cork of the remedy bottle, her eyes alternating between the ground, the sky, and the buildings. The blonde, though obviously less nervous, did alternate his gaze between Lenne and the buildings.

Suddenly, a gentle, bluish glow stretched across the sand, barely noticeable in comparison with the much brighter sphere light. Surprise appearing upon her face and curiosity on his, they both quickly turned to see what the source was. High above them, rising beyond the rooftops, was a small group of pyreflies.

“A Sending,” said Lenne, turning around fully and tilting her head backwards to watch their ascent. After a second’s pause, the blonde followed suit. They watched as the souls continued their climb into the sky, their path gently curving to the south as well. They would probably reach Guadosalam by morning time.

A gentle downward curve graced the edges of Lenne’s lips as she watched them drift away. At the same time, an air of melancholy settled over her, granting her a momentary lack of self-perception. Which of them had she known?

For a brief moment, Lenne could feel the blonde’s eyes upon her, but her transfixion with the souls of her ill-fated brethren was much stronger than her discomfort with him. Then, the sound of zipper unzipping and shifting cloth met her ears, and she turned to see the blonde rummaging through his bag.

“Here,” he said, extracting another remedy from the folds of fabric within the bag. As he took the first bottle from her and replaced it with the full one, Lenne noticed for the first time the significance of the cloth within the bag (as well as that on his person). It took a second, but she eventually recognized the combination of yellow and black that was the Abes team uniform. Before she could inquire about it, however, the blonde had replaced the empty bottle in his bag and moved out of the ring of sphere light. Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he headed off toward the buildings with a casual, “See ya.”

“Hey!” Lenne called, surprised by his sudden departure.

“Hm?” came the reply from somewhere in the darkness. Momentarily, the sound of his footsteps ceased as he waited for her to speak.

Suddenly, Lenne thought that maybe her call might have been better left unuttered. She held the sphere a bit higher to extend the light’s reach, searching for what to say meanwhile. “What’s your name?” she asked, saying the only thing she could think of.

There was a brief pause before she heard him respond rather simply with, “Shuyin,” and nothing more. Then, his steps could be heard once again, the sound growing fainter until it could no longer be heard. After looking into the gloom for but a moment more, Lenne turned to look at the Remedy in her hand, uncorked it, and began to drink it down as she once again started toward home.

\---

Upon reaching his apartment, Shuyin was grateful that he didn’t need a key to get it. It was quite handy, having a door handle that could tell if you were allowed access when you took hold of it. Slamming the door behind him and throwing his bag to the floor, Shuyin made no detours and instead headed straight to bed. He’d take care of personal hygiene another time.

He didn’t even change into his sleeping attire before falling face first into his pillow, kicking off his shoes as an afterthought. He settled in for a good long sleep, not planning on coming back to reality for at least a good ten hours. Unfortunately, these plans were interrupted roughly around midnight, when a loud and sluggish knock on the door jolted him from his sleep.

“You’ve got to be kidding me . . .” Shuyin groaned. Who in their right mind (or their wrong one, for that matter) would come banging on his door at this time of night? For a moment he pondered ignoring it, but grudgingly changed his mind when the knocking came once again, though louder this time.

Lethargically, he slid out of bed, grumbling to himself all the while. As quickly as his weary muscles would allow, he made his way over to the door and opened it. His support gone, Yasuo came tumbling through the door, crashing directly into Shuyin and nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Augh!” shouted Shuyin as he struggled to right himself and balance the both of them. “Yasuo! What the—?” It didn’t take long for Shuyin to notice Yasuo’s veined eyes, loud grumbling, and the overpowering smell that he brought with him. With a loud, aggravated sigh, Shuyin dragged Yasuo inside, slamming the door shut with his foot. Distantly, he heard Yasuo mumbling something about a monster and death and destruction. He had always been a paranoid drunk.

“Why do you always come to _my_ place when you get smashed? This place has an elevator for crying out loud! How do you use an elevator when you’re smashed?” Shuyin grumbled, though he hardly expected an answer.

Even so, he got one in the form of some almost incomprehensible slurs that sounded something like, “I jus’ liek ya, buddy. Ya should feel gud, knowin’ ya got somein who lieks ya.” Shuyin growled and shook his head. 

Carelessly, he tossed Yasuo onto the couch, which was where the man usually ended up during these drunken spells of his. “Go to bed,” Shuyin snapped curtly, which Yasuo returned with a foolish smile.

“Yer a gud boy,” Yasuo snickered, covering his eyes with one hand. “Sham it’ll git you too.”

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Shuyin went back to his bed, sandwiching his head between two of his pillows. Despite that, he had to suffer through Yasuo’s constant remarks of, “It can see you,” and “It’ll get us,” before drifting back to sleep.

\---

Sighing with relief, Lenne plopped down onto her bed, her still wet hair soaking her pillow. It had been pleasant getting the strange mixture of dirt, sweat, blood, and make-up she had adorned off of her with nice shower, but by now she was too tired to even dry her hair properly.

Lazily reaching over to her lamp and flicking it off, she left herself in almost total darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she could see the gleam of nightlife beyond her window, merry in spite of the recent attack. A gentle, quiet smile spread across Lenne’s lips. It was good that the people could continue to be happy when faced with such dreadful times as the ones that were upon them. If it was out of ignorance, then it was probably best that they didn’t understand. However, Lenne hardly believe that to be true. A person could hardly go through their daily routine in Zanarkand without the danger of their situation becoming more apparent than anyone would like.

She strained her eyes slightly, but she could no longer see the pyreflies. It wasn’t a surprise, since she could only just see the ocean from her window, but she looked for them nonetheless. After a moment though, she had to force herself to stop. It made her far to lonely to think about it.

Turning over, she thought back to hardly an hour before, when she had watched the souls drift idly through the air toward their resting place in the south. How alone it had made her feel, watching the spirits of her comrades float away over the horizon. All light and sound had stolen away into the darkness, allowing downheartedness to set in. For those few, saddening moments, it felt as if she were truly isolated. It was as if everything would soon be gone, just like the souls.

It had been nice when the blonde boy—Shuyin, if she remembered right—had intervened. Even if she hadn’t known his name (and knew not much more now), it was nice to have the smallest bit of human interaction. It wasn’t as if she was lacking it, and saying so would be a blatant lie. It was just good to have that contact when it was particularly needed.

Slowly, she opened one of her eyes and gently turned her head to look at the small table on the other side of the room. Upon it, though it was particularly hard to see in the dark, was the Remedy bottle that Shuyin had given her. It was empty, just like the one before it, and Lenne’s face was clear of any scarring as a result. It had been very nice of him, giving them to her.

By this time though, she had to stop thinking about it. The incredibly tiring events of the day combined with the pleasant humidity in the apartment was too much for Lenne, and she finally fell into a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Shuyin wasn’t really what one would call a bad person. He may not have been a saint, but he was nice enough to give someone a place to bed down for the night if they needed it. However, when morning rolled around, he didn’t have any qualms about kicking a person out of that same bed. Yasuo found that out the hard way.

“Augh!” yelled the man, having been jolted awake upon smacking into the uncomfortably hard floor. Behind the couch stood Shuyin, his narrowed eyes hinting at his irritation.

“It’s noon,” he said bluntly. “I want my couch back.”

“Couldn’t you have been a bit more gentle?” Yasuo complained as he slowly sat up and turned his eyes toward the window. Satisfied at finding that it was indeed noon, or some time close to it, he turned his attention to the painful pulse in the back of his head.

Shuyin shook his own head, walking out from behind the couch. “You sleep like a log. ‘Gentle’ isn’t really an option.” He made his way over to what had been dubbed the ‘kitchen’, though it was as much a storeroom for misplaced bits and pieces. Opening up a few cupboards, he started groping about for anything that would satisfy his appetite. “So, I bet I can guess where you were last night.”

“Would you quiet down?” Yasuo grumbled, pulling himself back up onto the couch. He balanced his head gingerly in one hand, as if afraid it might break if handled too roughly.

“It’s your own fault you’re like that,” Shuyin chided, moving on to the next cupboard in the line.

“It was better than just going home,” Yasuo countered, though with the state he was in, his heart was hardly in the argument. “Do you have the Inside Track by chance?”

“Nope. Besides, what makes you think I’d have that garbage?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Yasuo muttered defensively, briefly narrowing his eyes at his compatriot. “It tells more truth than any mainstream news.”

Shuyin let it go at that, briefly musing over how someone could take conspiracy newsletters—Yasuo’s said media of choice—seriously. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that the Lucans were running illegal underground beet markets that would somehow lead to the inevitable shoopuf uprising.

“While we’re talking about idiotic ranting,” said Shuyin, extracting a banana from the cabinet and peeling it, “you were rambling about something watching us last night. Something about it coming to ‘get us,’” A good-natured, though slightly mocking, smirk found its way to Shuyin’s face. “What was that about?”

Yasuo squinted at him, then turned his eyes to the floor in concentration. At the same time, Shuyin caught sight of his equipment bag laying open on the floor, and remembered the two missing remedies. As he headed into the bathroom to retrieve some replacements, Yasuo finally spoke.

“I think I know what you’re talking about,” he replied, moving before the door so that Shuyin, who was currently going through the medicine cabinet and first-aid kit, could hear him more clearly. “I read something not too long ago about Bevelle's weaponry. They have some pretty insane stuff. It looks like some of it can even think. Pretty creepy, right?”

“Another conspiracy theory. Got it,” Shuyin responded absently, finally extracting a second remedy bottle from underneath a bag of gyscal greens (he would later find himself pondering why exactly he had gyscal greens in the first place, but he was currently distracted). Yasuo gave a frustrated sigh, but let the matter drop.

“So,” he said, heading back to the couch and covering his eyes with his hand to block out the offending light coming from the window, “when’s our next game?”

“You’re already thinking about that?” Shuyin questioned, stuffing the remedies in his bag and zipping it shut.

“Why not?”

“You know we lost last night. There’s no way you could’ve drank enough to forget about _that_.”

Yasuo leaned his head against the couch’s backrest, smiling at Shuyin as encouragingly as a man with a hangover could. “Can’t do anything about that now. We’ve got to look forward to winning the next one is all.”

“Isn’t that what you said last time?” Shuyin asked bitterly, swinging the bag from his hand so it knocked into the wall before quietly settling itself down onto the floor. “And the time before that. We haven’t won once yet.”

“Come on Shuyin. Cheer up,” Yasuo said, waving his hand at Shuyin, quickly ceasing when it began to make him dizzy. “We did better last night than we have been. We can only do better next time, right?”

\---

Unfortunately, the following week, an end-of-game scoreboard displaying 4-6 in favor of the opposition made a pretty good argument to the contrary. Comments of a losing streak drifted about the locker room, succeeding in making the environment even more crushingly depressing. It didn’t help that when Yasuo and Shuyin pushed open the doors to the hallway, they could hear the echo of the commentator’s remarks, which mirrored rather closely the ideas of those still in the locker room.

“So much for your optimistic thinking,” Shuyin grumbled, letting the door bang shut behind him.

“I never said _which_ next time I was talking about,” Yasuo defended. “Remember, we’ve got quite a few games left. We’re bound to win sometime.” Resting an elbow on Shuyin’s shoulder, Yasuo gave the blonde a smirk. “And how about next time you try to _avoid_ getting kicked in the head. It makes you a lousy throw.” Not particularly pleased with the accusation, Shuyin was moments from giving Yasuo a head beating of his own—out of frustration if nothing else—when a hand gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me? Shuyin?”

Looking over his shoulder, Shuyin halted mid-step. Beside the door, adorned in her white robes and veil of a hood, was Lenne. Her head was bowed, hiding even the slightest glimpse of her face, for which she was definitely justified. Though the crowd in the hall was almost non-existent, it would take only one fan to notice her and draw a huge crowd. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, fidgeting with something hidden by her sleeve.

From behind him, Shuyin could feel Yasuo’s curious eyes boring into the back of his head. With a hasty, “One second,” to Lenne, he turned to face his all too inquisitive cohort.

“Who might that be?” Yasuo asked slyly, his smirk showing no sign of departure.

“A friend,” Shuyin replied curtly. “Look, I’m going to stick around for a few minutes. Go ahead and leave.”

“You’re ditching me?” Yasuo asked, a very unconvincing look of mock hurt upon his face.

“You’ll get over it,” Shuyin retorted, shoving Yasuo toward the stairs and turning back toward Lenne. As Yasuo disappeared up the steps, Shuyin could have sworn he heard a sarcastic, “Sure. _Friends_ ,” but chose to ignore it.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I forgot to thank you the other day,” she said, taking a step closer so that the hood would do less to hinder her. “Also, I needed to give this back to you,” She extended her hand out to him, revealing the remedy bottle he had given her before.

Shuyin blinked, briefly giving her a confused look. It was just a cheap glass bottle that he could hardly do more with than throw away. Not really something worth her time to return. Nonetheless, he quickly gathered his composure and took it from her, holding it gracelessly about the neck. “How’s your burn?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward her.

“Gone,” she said, pulling back her hood slightly to show him. Sure enough, there was no burn that he could see; merely a pair of brown eyes and a small smile. However, they quickly disappeared behind the white cloth once again when the locker room door opened. The team flooded out, cramming the thin hallway and bringing the lingering stench of sweat and fatigue with them.

“Well,” said Lenne, talking as quietly as possible over the din. “I should go. It was nice seeing you again.” With the scantest flash of a smile from behind the white fabric, she carefully started to make her way towards the stairs leading to the lobby, an apology leaving her lips every other moment or so. However, before she was halfway there, a careful tug on her forearm brought her attention back to Shuyin.

“When you have time, do you think you could explain a few things to me?” he asked, following her sluggish movements between the many surrounding bodies.

“What?”

“Well, what happened before. What’s really going on with Bevelle. Why are the summoners involved. That sort of thing.” He responded, though he did feel a bit strange about it. Current events weren’t really his forte, and he usually did his best to ignore them as much as he was allowed to. Still, his curiosity over her was stronger than his dislike for the subject in question, so he went along with it.

Lenne paused for a moment, silent until she reached the bottom step. Chilled air from the lobby rushed down the stairway to cool any exposed skin, a desirable alternative to the heat of the corridor.

“Well,” she said, slowly ascending the staircase with Shuyin at her side. “I’m not really the best person to tell you.” She paused. “But . . . I’ve got time now, if you do.”

\---

“So that’s what this is all about? Machina?” Shuyin asked. Though he had gotten used to grand-scale stupidity (due almost entirely to current events), he was still slightly taken aback by the simplicity of the situation.

“Well, yes,” Lenne responded, pausing for a moment to let someone impatiently shove by. By now, the pair were several blocks away from the dome, meandering through the crowded streets and allowing themselves to be jostled about by those individuals who were certain they had somewhere to be at 10 O’clock at night. At the same time, Lenne was piecing together an explanation for Zanarkand’s current misfortune. It had not been a short tale, but when boiled down to its basic concepts, it became disturbingly simple: Bevelle wanted Zanarkand’s machina.

“Don’t they have machina of their own?” Shuyin asked, stepping to the side to allow Lenne room to squeeze by a large group moving in an annoyingly languid fashion. “They are a machina city, right? 

“Yes, but Bevelle’s aren’t as advanced as what we have, and it would be far too dangerous to give it to them,” Lenne said, absently tugging at the sleeve of her robes. “Bevelle specializes in war machines, which is why they want our machina. They want to utilize it, develop it so it can be used for even _more_ powerful war machina. If we ever gave it to them, they would be nearly unstoppable. They’d wipe us out, and no city in Spira could defend itself against that kind of power.”

For a moment, neither spoke as they made their way through the chattering crowd. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling that came with that knowledge.

“So,” Shuyin finally spoke up, turning to Lenne. “Where do you fit in in all of this?”

“Me? Well, you know about the summoners,” Lenne responded. “They’ve been protecting Zanarkand for as long as I can remember. We just have a little more to deal with now than we have in the past.” She followed this with a smile and a small shrug, as if the weight of defending a country at war was on par with remembering to feed one’s pet fish every morning.

“And you do all of Zanarkand’s defending?” said Shuyin, entwining his fingers and cradling them behind his head, the look in his eyes a cynical one. “Isn’t that a lot to put on you?”

“No, no. Zanarkand has troops if things get out of control. So far, Bevelle has just been sending warning attacks,” she explained. “We’ve been able to handle them all right. Besides, we have the guardians.” As the final word was leaving her lips, for but a split second, her tone changed to one of melancholy. At the same time, Shuyin noticed a gentle downturn in her brow and the edges of her lips. However, by the time he turned to face her, her features had returned to normal, leaving the man more than a bit perplexed.

“The guardians?” he asked, still wary of any changes in her expression. However, when a smile turned her lips, he grudgingly accepted a trick of the light as the culprit.

“The guardians are people who protect the summoners,” she explained, tapping her fingers together absently. “They aren’t experts in combat or anything. They’re just normal people, usually our relatives or close friends. Really, they’re almost in more danger than we are.” She followed this remark with an apologetic look in her eyes, and Shuyin had to wonder who she was apologizing to. “They know a few things though, like how to swing a sword or use a few spells. Whenever there’s an alarm, they always come out to help us.”

Again, Shuyin spotted the look of dejection in her eyes and upon her face, and quickly jerked his head to get a better look. However, by the time he had done so, it was gone once again. In its place was a brow creased with confusion. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” he responded, though his quizzical gaze remained a moment longer than he wished it to before turning away. A minute ticked by, the uncomfortable silence reestablishing as the two listened to the jumble of conversations around them. Shuyin was able to catch something about Barbutas and turnips before Lenne spoke up again.

“I’m sorry, I’ve talked too much about myself,” she said. After a pause for contemplation, she said, “That was a really good game tonight. Your team played well.”

Bewilderment quickly distorting his features, Shuyin stopped in his tracks. However, after receiving a reward for his lapse in the form of nearly being knocked over by the person behind him (and being quietly cursed at for a while afterwards), he promptly regained his stride and turned a confused eye toward Lenne. “Good? We lost.”

“Only by two points,” Lenne pointed out. “And you played really hard. It was a very good game.”

“Maybe,” Shuyin responded, his eyes scanning the chipped concrete below his feet. “But just playing hard doesn’t amount to much when our season is 0-4.”

“Well . . .I suppose,” said Lenne, somewhat disheartened. She turned her eyes up toward the sky, black and starless as a result of the overpowering light of the city. “I should be getting home soon, but can you tell me when you’re next game is? I’d like to come watch.”

Turning an eye toward her, eyebrow raised, Shuyin asked, “You want to watch us lose?” 

“No.” said Lenne, a cautious, gentle smile lighting her face. “I want to be there when you win.”

Though his brow did not move from its elevated position, he couldn’t help but mirror her smile. It may have been a naive thing to say, but it was nonetheless a kind gesture (which was slowly starting to become a pattern with her). “I’ll ask Nirui at our next practice,” he answered, “Now, where do you live? I’ll walk you home.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Lady Lenne!” cried the attendant as Lenne stumbled from the Chamber of the Fayth, leaning against the wall before ungracefully tripping to one knee. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her forehead and her breaths suggested more than moderate strain. Still, she was able to wave a hand in the attendant’s direction, establishing that she was unharmed.

“I’m all right,” she breathed. “Just tired.”

Quickly, the attendant, a jittery looking woman at least twice Lenne’s age, snatched up a container of water and forced it into the summoner’s free hand. “Thank you,” Lenne said, wearily unscrewing the top and gulping down the contents. When she’d had her fill, she gently set the bottle down beside her and took a few more deep breaths.

Staring at Lenne with a cautious eye, the attendant slowly asked, “Lady Lenne, were you able to obtain the aeon?”

“Yes,” Lenne answered, momentarily glancing over her shoulder into the chamber. Though the stone engraving was out of sight now, she could still see its warrior depiction in her head, all brawn and sword and intimidation. This fayth had been a proud one, not to mention rather impatient with her. From what she had heard from others, this was not unusual. “Is it late?” she asked, brushing a few stray hairs away from her face and wiping away the sweat there.

“Not very,” the attendant responded. “It’s hardly even five yet.”

Slowly, Lenne got to her feet, picking up the water bottle as she stood. “Thank you for waiting. I’m sorry I kept you so long.”

“N-no! Not at all,” the attendant said nervously, holding up her hands. Lenne of course, knew this to be lie. She had entered the chamber hours ago, leaving the attendant with nothing to do but sit and wait for her reemergence. It was common practice for a summoner to have someone accompany them into the temple, if for nothing else than safety purposes. While it was generally a summoner’s guardian who accompanied them, there were other options for when exceptions had to be made. The woman before her, someone she hardly knew, was one of those options.

“…Lady Lenne?” the attendant questioned, looking across the large, dimly lit room to the door leading outside. “Have you found a replacement yet?”

Lenne paused for a moment, looking at the architecture of the temple ceiling with far more interest than it should have been given. “No…no, not yet.” She gestured for the attendant to go ahead of her, and then followed the woman toward the temple’s main doors. Behind them, she heard the door to the Chamber of the Fayth shut with a thud, the way it always did.

“My lady, I suggest you try to find someone quickly,” said the attendant as she pushed open the doors to the outside. Both summoner and aide covered their eyes to avoid the fading—yet still harsh—sunlight, and then continued on. “The next attack could come at any time, and you might end up at a terrible disadvantage.”

Lenne responded with a small, reassuring smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be all right.” She promised.

“Lady, you cannot be sure of that,” the attendant said, a minute bit of forcefulness behind what was otherwise complete courtesy. “Last time was that burn. You may be hurt even worse next time if you don’t have someone to help you.”

For a moment, Lenne cast her eyes downward, regarding the dust that clung to her shoe. Then, the moment was over, and the smile returned to her face. “I’ll do my best. Please, don’t worry about me in the meantime,” she said, pulling her hood up over her head as they moved onto the more crowded paved streets. “I’m sorry, but I best get going,” she announced. “I have an engagement tonight. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Of course, Lady,” the attendant assured her, nodding. Returning the nod, Lenne smiled and hastening into the crowd, headed toward the blitzball dome. Before the attendant disappeared from view, Lenne turned and gave her one last wave of farewell and thanks. Though the woman politely returned the gesture, her face showed something hardly akin to contentment. Instead, it showed what little faith she had in Lenne carrying out her ‘promise’. Taking it in stride with merely a sigh as her acknowledgement, the summoner turned once again toward her destination and set off.

\---

Come two hours later, Lenne’s white robes had been exchanged for a more recognizable outfit, one of cobalt silk and black lace. From above, beyond the lower levels and the stage over that, she could hear the cheering of hundreds, if not thousands, of people.

It was astonishing sometimes, hearing all those voices. To anyone else in Zanarkand, something like that would have sounded ridiculous, since silence was a hard thing to come by, no matter where one was in the city. Of course, it wasn’t that all the voices were together that was so nearly bewildering to Lenne; it was that they were cheering for her. A summoner—a role she had been playing longer than the songstress—hardly got such attention. Still, that just made each concert feel as if it were the first.

With a smile and wave to the stage workers, Lenne jogged up the steps, the microphone held securely and comfortably in her hand. As she reached the top and stepped onto the stage, what once was flesh became silhouette, hardly distinguishable against the blackness that encompassed the platform. All around, she could hear the crowd buzzing noisily, excitement hanging about the area like a brilliant haze.

Taking a quick breath to ease her anticipation, Lenne shut her eyes, shielding them as the spotlight above came to life with an echoing clack. Immediately, the crowd around her exploded into applause, the black collective of bodies surging like some sort of strange tidal wave. As the soft chime of a piano began to grow louder and echo around her, a smile graced her lips. It was always fun singing for a crowd.

As the tempo began to slowly increase, Lenne took a turnabout look at the crowd, the smiling never receding an inch. Then, at her queue, she raised the microphone and started to sing.

“It’s far too hard to trust,” she sang, her voice quiet, though still confident and low. “To let someone touch those broken wings. Too many times, they’ve fallen under the strain of those who would tear them apart.”

It wasn’t a monumental song, really. No one would remember it in a few years, or maybe even a few hours. Still, it was nice for a starter.

“I want to mend your wings, and see you fly, but I know I never will. You can’t soar to heaven with someone holding you back.”

She hadn’t been crazy about it at first, given the city’s current situation. What with the constant havoc and gloom that befell these people, the last thing Lenne wanted to do was sing something that would add to their melancholy. She had hoped to stick to more upbeat lyrics, at least for the time being. However, it had continued to nag at her for quite some time until she finally decided that that a semi-happy song would be good for a change. Hopefully, the audience would agree.

The monstrous cheers that had accompanied her entrance had by now died down completely. The crowd was exceptionally quiet, save for a few murmurs here and there that never reached Lenne’s ears. A minute ticked by, then two, then three, and still the only sounds in the stadium were Lenne’s voice and the piano.

“I want to see my angel fly, again,” she breathed, letting the songs final lyrics roll from her tongue. There, she held it for a second or so, and was then silent. A second’s pause followed, and then came the thunderous applause and cheering. Hollering, whistling, clapping, screaming, and all other sorts of acknowledgment flowed down to her, warmer and brighter than any spotlight. So, they had liked it.

As was her custom, she waved a hand in thanks, turning full circle to see as much of the crowd as she could. It really was wonderful, making them cheer like this. Delight and bliss was held in every note from that bizarre choir, and it only made her smile grow. It was wonderful to think that, for even a few minutes, she could bring that kind of joy to these people. It didn’t matter what the day’s attire was, be it her songstress outfit, or her summoner’s robe. Either way, the ambition, the attitude, and the goal were all the same.

Soon enough, loud, nearly obnoxious techno music began to sound from the speakers, and she started into her dance steps. Momentarily, as the crowd’s cheers once again began to die down (though this time did not fade completely), she wondered if Shuyin was somewhere in the crowd.

\---

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“Then knock it off. It’s annoying.”

“I was just wondering why you were so willing to come this time.”

“That isn’t ‘no reason’.”

“Well, I was just wondering. I practically had to drag you to see her last show. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“. . . Shut up.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was undeniably one of the nicest days Zanarkand had seen in weeks. Besides the wispy clouds that lazily drifted from over the endless expanse of blue sea, the sky was completely clear. The ocean was calm, waves arching almost perfectly, as opposed to the choppiness that had defined them for quite a while. The late-afternoon sun shown bright and hot against the streets, and the crowds were out in abundance to enjoy it.

Shuyin was with Lenne at the time. They were at the port, watching incoming cargo ships drift by, chatting about everything and nothing at all. Occasionally, he would joke about the near-miss game that had taken place the previous night (leaving the Abes with a score of 0-6), and in return, she would give comfort that wasn’t really needed, though not turned down.

“You’ll see,” she said reassuringly. “You’ll win soon enough, and it’ll all be worth it.”

“It _would_ be worth it for Nirui to not yell at us for once,” he responded with a shrug and a smirk.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your captain.”

“Hey, come on. You’ve heard her. I know you have. Why else would you have been as white as a sheet that one time?”

“I was?” She asked, her voice quiet, self-consciousness, and a remorseful. Still, it didn’t take long for him to dissolve into laughter, and, after casting a perplexed look in his direction, she apparently couldn’t help but do the same.

It really was the nicest day they had seen in a while. Regrettably, the siren had a knack to ruin such days quite abruptly.

The ghastly noise and accompanying voice came screaming through the buzz of cheerful conversation, quickly sucking all the pleasantness out of the air. Shock and then fear quickly took its place, gasps of disbelief quickly turning into screams of terror all along the pier. Hundreds of frenzied footfalls sent tremors through the concrete as people recklessly fled for their designated sanctuaries, the calm yet forceful voice still somehow audible in the background of it all.

The delight in her eyes instantly replaced by anxiety and dread, Lenne whirled around, watching as the frantic crowd began to disperse into the nearby buildings with no shortage of pushing and shoving. “Oh no,” she said, horrified. Spinning back around and clamping her hands tightly around the safety railing, she leaned over it, her eyes scanning a sea too calm for the current circumstances.

“What’s wrong?” Shuyin hollered over the pandemonium.

“They’ve been coming by sea recently,” Lenne called over her shoulder, leaning even further forward. Gripping her shoulder to steady her, Shuyin squinted off toward the horizon, looking for whatever it was that Lenne was so eager to find. However, with each passing second the siren became even more deafening, until it got to the point where he could no longer hear himself think. Obviously, he wasn’t going to be of much help.

“There!” Lenne exclaimed, pointing off to the south. There, speeding toward the shore with frighteningly obvious hostile intent, were a number of Bevelle hovers. Already, a sizable group had gathered on the beach, and though they were not but mere specks, it was clear what they were there to do: intercept Bevelle’s forces.

Giving the rope around her middle a good tug to secure her staff (or colorful walking stick, as Shuyin had first known it), Lenne leapt away from the railing and hastily seized Shuyin’s hand. The next thing he knew, they were barreling down the street at a speed rather dangerous for someone wearing as long a robe as Lenne was.

“Find somewhere to take cover and stay safe,” Lenne said, her all-business demeanor carrying a strong sense of déjà vu. “I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.” With that, she released his hand, leaving him tripping to a stop as she continued to race down the boulevard, dodging around panicked stragglers left and right before completely disappearing into the throng.

He remained there for a moment or two, eyes fixed on the spot where she had vanished. However, the crowd quickly began to dictate his path, taking him along as the many frantic citizens scrambled for the sanctuary of the buildings. After a few moments of resistance, he finally submitted to them, scanning the business and shop windows for a place that wasn’t packed with people already. Yet, he couldn’t focus, for his mind was inconveniently somewhere else. Coming to a stop (which was easier said than done due to the aforementioned crowd), he looked over his shoulder, eyes fixed upon the end of the street down which Lenne had disappeared.

Thinking back, he called up the memory of their first meeting. The destroyed hovers that lay broken on the sand; the summoners, guardians, and acolytes running about frantically, desperate to find something with which to aide their fallen; the bodies…

Turning on a heel, he started down the street at a sprint, receiving several elbows in the shoulder and loud curses from those who were headed in the other direction, seeking safety. However, he paid them no mind. As he rounded the corner and continued to race down the street against the flow of bodies, he knew he had far more important things to worry about than a few annoyed passersby.

\---

Ten minutes and as many wrong turns later, Shuyin came to a skidding halt at the shore, where the standoff between the Zanarkand and Bevelle forces was already well underway. Bevelle soldiers stood like menacing hood ornaments atop their stationary hovers, which remained offshore. Whether the summoners were holding them off or they were merely using the sea to their advantage, Shuyin couldn’t tell.

Meanwhile, summoners and guardians alike were spread across the beach, ferocity shining in their narrowed eyes. Swords and guns were commonplace among the guardians, held in many a tense fist. At the same time, magic filled the arsenal of those without a weapon, blasts of fire and flashes of lightning daring the hovers to come closer.

However, as intimidating as the guardians were, the summoners’ tactics easily put them to shame. Alongside them were numerous bizarre looking beasts, their shapes varying from snake to bird to nearly human, and nearly everything else in between. Those that were airborne attacked with such viciousness, it was as if they neither knew nor cared about anything else but the battle. Meanwhile, those that were hindered by the water made due with bombarding the hovers with balls of fire, blades of ice, and violent artificial gales, among many other things.

“What the—?” Shuyin said, stepping back in amazement, and consequently backing right into something else. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a middle-aged man looking back at him, face glistening with a thin layer of sweat and caked with a far thicker layer of anxiety. Beside him stood a small group of other frantic looking individuals, each clinging securely to a sizable brown box and watching the battle with fright in their eyes.

“Who are you?” The man inquired anxiously, drawing a sleeve across his forehead to rid it of moisture. “Citizens aren’t allowed here!”

“I’m not,” Shuyin stammered, a little too quickly to come off as convincing. “I-I’m a guardian.”

“To whom?” the man asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Lenne,” Shuyin responded, turning away from the man, whose brow was already furrowed in thought.

“But the Lady Lenne—” Shuyin however, was already gone, scanning the crowd of summoners and guardians, trying to pick out a flare of white amongst the assortment of colors that adorned the crowd. By the time the man turned his eyes upward once again, Shuyin was too far away to hear his protests over the din.

As he searched, Shuyin spotted one of the airborne creatures, overcome by its injuries, fall from its aloft position and slam into the waves, bursting into hundreds of pyreflies upon impact. Quickly they dispersed, shooting off in all directions and then up into the sky, where they swiftly disappeared from sight. Once they had fully dissipated, one of the summoners near where the creature had been stepped forward, raising her staff above her head. She began spinning it, her pace steadily increasing until a solid ring of light hovered above her. Energy radiated from it and the staff, white sparks shooting from the both of them only to land harmlessly on the sand. Then, with one quick, fluid motion, she took the staff in one hand and swung it, sending the mass of energy rocketing through the air. When it came to rest on the wet sand, the ball of energy unfurled into a blue, snake-like creature, which announced its arrival with a resounding hiss for all to hear.

“The summons…” Shuyin muttered to himself as he watched the snake dive into the water, coming up underneath a hover and upending it. However, as fascinating as this new revelation was, he quickly turned his eyes back to the crowd. As before, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

After a few more anxious minutes of searching, he finally spotted her. She was at the far end of the crowd, a few yards away from her nearest brethren. Her hands were held before her face, shielding it, as a translucent mass that Shuyin could only guess had been one of the summons disintegrated into nothingness before her. Meanwhile, the driver of one of the hovers had noticed her predicament and, taking advantage of the hole in the defenses that she presented, turned the hover sharply and started speeding toward her.

Lenne, quick to spot this, hastily raised her staff and twirled it in one hand, beginning a summoning. A swing to the left, a twirl to the right, a turn, and then the staff was held carefully between her hands, her head bowed and eyes closed. Above, black clouds that had before been non-existent began to gather, casting an ominous shadow over her stationary form.

However, before she could finish, several of the soldiers cocked their guns and fired upon her. The first four bullets fortunately only got to within a foot of her before recoiling and landing harmless in the sand. Each time, a nearly transparent bubble shape would appear around her, then swiftly disappear once again; a shield spell. Unfortunately, four shots were all the shield could stand. The fifth bullet shattered it, sending shards flying through the air, where they flickered once before disappearing completely. Her eyes flying open, Lenne unfortunately had no time to react before the bullet embedded itself in her thigh. Screaming in alarm and distress, she dropped to a knee, the clouds above her dissipating as she did so. An instant later, another bullet whizzed by her head, slicing across the top of her ear and bringing forth from her another cry of pain.

“Lenne!” Shuyin shouted in horror, whipping his eyes around to the soldiers reloading their guns, swiftly decreasing the space between themselves and Lenne. Panicked, Shuyin pivoted frantically, desperate to find something that would prove useful. However, finding nothing, he quickly turned upon the closest summoner and his respective guardians.

“Help her!” He shouted at them, gesturing wildly behind his back and successfully frightening more than one of them. “They’re going to kill her!”

However, as he soon realized, he needn’t have bothered. Gulping back the pain and cries that accompanied it, Lenne turned eyes filled with determination back toward the cruiser. Biting her tongue, she pushed herself up into a shaky standing position. Then, holding her staff out once more, she resumed her summoning with the same—if not more—vigor. Again she swung the staff, precisely as she had done so before. Again the clouds began to gather, and again the soldiers trained their weapons upon her.

“Le—!” Shuyin started, attempting to stir her from her reverie. Even if he disrupted the summoning, it was better than letting the soldiers’ bullets do so instead. Before he could finish however, Lenne raised her staff into the air, and then swiftly brought it down, slamming the base into the sand. Simultaneously, a blast of lightning shot down from the clouds, casting an eerie glow upon her. Then, the focus of the performance quickly switched to a strange oval shape that hung in midair above her, seemingly growing from the lightning itself. It quickly began to rotate, centrifugal force peeling a pair of wings, a tail, and a head back from it. This exposed a bird-like creature, though it was so in shape only. It was devoid of any feature, and could very well have been made of wax if not for the fact that it was moving.

Gripping her staff tightly, Lenne waved it seaward, indicating the incoming hover. Without hesitation, the beast flapped its monstrous wings, and shot toward its target, sending sand flying about itself and Lenne.

Visibly exhausted, Lenne collapsed to her knees once more, a hand upon her chest as she struggled for breath. Meanwhile, she still gripped her staff tightly in the other, her knuckles beginning to turn white.

Shuyin could only stare, transfixed and awed. In the space of a minute, he had seen her shot twice, one distressingly close to being fatal, yet she was still able to continue, sans shield or any other sort of protection from Bevelle’s onslaught. Even now, with blood painting her robes a vile scarlet and her lungs devoid of air, she was still prepared to act if the need were to surface.

“Lenne. . .” Shuyin whispered to himself, watching as she struggled to her feet, using her staff as a stanchion. As he watched, he thought about the people behind him, the summoners brandishing their staffs with ardor while their guardians stood beside them, ready to return any fire that came the summoners’ way. Why wasn’t there someone to offer Lenne a hand? Why was she forced to fight on her own? Where were _her_ guardians?

Collectively, the roars of several engines rang through the air, accompanied by bellows of rejoice from the shore. Turning, Shuyin saw that the hovers were retreating, soldiers plucking their own from the water as they went, a chorus of taunts and cheers from Zanarkand’s forces seeing them off.

With a sigh of relief, Shuyin turned back to Lenne, once again intent upon aiding her. “Lenne!” He called out to her, only to find that it wasn’t necessary. Her eyes were already upon him, mouth agape and disbelief painted across her face. In response, Shuyin’s own features immediately took on an apologetic air, one hand rubbing the back of his head as the memory of her earlier warning came back to him. Then, he once again spotted the continually expanding bloodstain on her leg, and realized that an explanation could wait.

\---

If possible, the minutes following the battle were even more hectic than the battle itself. After Bevelle’s retreat was assured by the cruisers’ disappearance over the horizon, the shore became a frenzy of activity. As it turned out, the boxes that the clergy members had been protecting were worth their effort; they were filled with potions, hi-potions, remedies, and an assortment of other medical concoctions. Unfortunately, as they began rapidly disappearing, it became apparent that they were in short supply. As a result, guardians and priests alike could be seen scrambling this way and that, searching for the supplies necessary to aid their fallen and injured. Even finding a simple potion was a laborious chore.

When he finally had an adequate supply of items—two hi-potions and a remedy—Shuyin headed back to where Lenne sat, her robe hiked up around her thigh so that she could better examine her wound.

“Here,” he said, adding his collection of bottles to the Ether that was at her side.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” she said quietly, picking up one of the hi-potions and fiddling with the cork. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“You weren’t much better off,” he replied, eyes flitting between the burn on her ear and the gash on her leg.

“It’s nothing.”

“You were shot!”

“I’m all right,” she said. “Really. Look.” Uncorking the hi-potion and holding it to her lips, she downed it, wiping her mouth on her sleeve afterwards. “See?” she said, pointing at her leg. In a matter of moments, the wound had disappeared completely, leaving only a pinkish stain behind.

“Lenne,” Shuyin said, turning his eyes toward her burned ear. “You could have been . . .” He stopped, busying himself with locating the remedy bottle. “Why don’t you have a guardian?” he asked, handing it to her. She took it in both hands, running a thumb along the glass as her eyes flitted about the sand by her feet.

“She . . .” Lenne started, but quickly trailed off.

“Lenne?” Shuyin pressed, tilting his head in an attempt to see her face more clearly.

After a few more moments of silence (or relative silence, given the noise and chatter that reverberated around them), Lenne set the bottle down, running a hand across the sand. “My guardian died,” she answered, turning somber eyes upon Shuyin.

“ . . .Died?” He asked, not quite sure how to respond. “Um . . . When?”

She was silent, and Shuyin mentally reprimanded himself for pushing the subject. If their roles had been reversed, he knew that he wouldn’t have wanted an inquiry when the matter at hand was the death of a friend.

“About two months ago,” she replied, catching him off guard. “It was during the battle at the shore in Sector A. I didn’t end up finding out until a few days later, though.”

As the last sentence left her lips, Shuyin’s eyes widened in realization before he quickly turned them downward, watching her draw circles in the sand. His home was in Sector A.

Bits of the night they met flashed through his mind once again. He saw everything he had seen in his earlier musings, and then her, staring despondently at the pyreflies that rose higher and higher into the sky. Had that been the night that her guardian had died?

Something grabbing her attention, Lenne turned, prompting Shuyin to do the same. A group was beginning to collect a few yards away from them. “Oh,” said Lenne, beginning to gather up the bottles. “They’re getting ready for a Sending,” she told Shuyin, pointing at the crowd with her free hand. Getting to her feet, she held it out to him. “Let’s go.”

\---

Three bodies—two Bevelle soldiers and a guardian no older than twenty—were laid before the waves, pulled far enough back so that they would not be dragged away. The sky, which had been a brilliant blue only an hour or so before, was now black, thanks to the ominous dark clouds that were still rolling in from the sea.

However, no one paid any attention to them. So far as Shuyin could see, everyone was focused on the summoner that stood before the bodies. He was a sturdy man, stony-faced, grave, and rather calm, indicating that this obviously wasn’t his first Sending. Apathy the only thing present on his face, he raised his staff, then gracefully brought it down. He let it gently skim across the sand, spinning around his ankles, pointing it toward the sky a moment later. Slowly, pyreflies began to rise from the three bodies, emerging quicker and quicker the longer the Sending continued.

Shuyin kept his gaze upon the pyreflies as they drifted into the distance, only losing them when a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, quickly followed by crack of thunder. A few of the clergy members turned their eyes upward for a moment, clearly apprehensive. As the summoner let his outspread arms drop to his sides and the last of the pyreflies departed from their empty shells of bodies, another angry clap of thunder sounded, and rain finally began to fall. It was slow at first, giving the crowd a bit of time to watch the pyreflies float away into the darkness that hung thick as fog over the sea. However, it was soon coming down in torrents, soaking through sand and cloth alike. The clergy, guardians, and summoners began to quickly head for cover, their arms thrown over their heads in a feeble attempt to protect themselves from the downpour.

Shuyin watched them go, brushing a few wet strands of hair out of his eyes. He was hardly in as much of a hurry as the others, since his vocation had made him all but immune to the discomforts of water. However, even with that advantage, he didn’t plan on staying out in the rain for very long.

He turned to Lenne, who, to his surprise, was not trying to avoid the rain at all. She didn’t even make the slightest effort to shield herself, leaving her arms at her sides and letting the rain soak her. Her eyes were still fixed upon the wispy pyreflies, though they were now practically invisible through the rain and gloom. He watched her for a moment, rather baffled by her apparent indifference to her own comfort. Then, he gently placed his hand upon her shoulder, breaking her from her reverie. “Lenne, we should get going. We’re getting soaked.”

As she blinked a few times, an embarrassed expression adorned her features, quickly followed by an apologetic smile. The image was one Shuyin would find himself pondering in the days to come: rainwater covered her face, running down her cheeks and off of her chin. Yet, even after the evening’s trials, even after watching those she held dear disappear into the nothingness that lay beyond the shore, he knew that all of that water was rain.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lifting a hand and brushing some of the water from her face. “That was rather silly, wasn’t it?”

“Not a problem,” Shuyin responded, again brushing a bit of unruly hair out of his eyes. “Let’s go to my place. It’s closer than yours. You can hole up there until the rain stops.”

“All right,” she said after a moment’s consideration. Flashing him a smile of gratitude and making sure he was beside her, she started to jog up the beach, hands spread before her face to protect her from the monsoon.

As Shuyin followed her, his mind began to wander, and he somehow couldn’t help but remember her words from before: “ _My guardian died._ ”

\---

Within the scope of two hours, Shuyin found himself lying on his couch, an arm cushioning his head as he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling of his apartment. Or, more correctly, stared into the darkness where the ceiling mostly likely was.

He was playing the day's events over in his mind, most specifically what Lenne had said to him after the battle. If his assumptions were correct and her guardian had really died that night, she had gone nearly two months without someone there to aid her.

Turning on his side, he looked in the general direction of his bed. It hadn’t been a simple task, but in addition to staying the night, he had convinced Lenne to take the bed, an excess of ‘thank you’s following her eventual concession.

In hindsight, the wistful silence that had followed her mention of the guardians was a blindingly obvious sign of her predicament. To him, his ignorance was hardly short of infuriating, and he had spent most of the last hour silently reprimanding himself for it and searching for some means by which he could have figured things out sooner. The fact that he could find no such means was even more aggravating.

Soon enough however, he realized that such reminiscences were going to have to wait until later. There was something much more important that he had to worry about: Lenne was without a guardian, and had been so for some time. Skill and luck had kept her safe for the past few weeks, but unfortunately, that evening's near miss had cemented a rather disturbing truth. If she continued to fight on her own, peril would not be long in coming.

He remained silent for a few more moments, staring into the blackness that encompassed him, wondering if she was still awake. “Lenne?” he eventually whispered, pushing himself up on an elbow. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” she responded, though her voice was a bit groggy. He heard the sound of the covers shifting, and could only assume that she was sitting up as well.

“Today . . . you could have died,” Shuyin said, his voice coming off more anxious than he would have liked.

“I told you, I'm all right,” she said gently, the covers shifting once again. He could almost hear a gentle, reassuring smile resounding in her voice. “You don't have to worry about me.”

“You might not be next time,” Shuyin pointed out. “You need a new guardian.”

“I know,” She admitted, her tone a mix of good humor and subtle repentance, the latter completely out of his place to his ears. “Everyone keeps reminding me of that. I just . . . I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“But that puts _you_ in danger.”

“I suppose." 

Their discussion coming to a dead-end, the two fell silent, listening to the rain as it pounded as viciously as ever upon the curtained window.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your guardian.”

Immediately, the sound of footsteps and frantic shuffling met his ears, and a moment later the overhead lamp flashed to life, briefly blinding him. After giving his eyes a minute to adjust, he looked up at Lenne. Her hand still lingered on the switch, eyes wide and firmly focused on him. “Shuyin, no,” she said, letting her hand slide down the wall and fall to her side.

“Why?” he asked, sitting up and turning to face her. “You need someone there, right? I could help you!”

“Shuyin,” Lenne sighed, sinking back onto the bed and rubbing her hands together anxiously. “You just . . . you don’t know anything about being a guardian. You could get hurt.”

“I’ll learn!” Shuyin insisted. She turned toward him for but a moment before looking away again, training her eyes upon the floor and fidgeting nervously. Shuyin followed suit, letting his gaze wander about the floorboards as he searched for something to say. “Lenne, I want to help,” he said, turning his eyes upon her, though hers stayed firmly locked upon a discarded box in the corner. “Lenne—” he prompted, nearly suppliant.

She was silent for a moment more before getting to her feet and walking over to where the switch for the light was mounted. “Let’s get some sleep,” she said listlessly, forcing a small smile onto her face for what he could only assume was his benefit.

With that, the light went out, plunging them both back into the comfortable blackness. Shuyin settled back against the cushions, listening to the driving rain and Lenne tiptoeing across the floor. Muttering a quick “Good night,” and shutting his eyes, Shuyin continued to the listen to the former noise, which continued to sound long after he had drifted off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the sun had risen the next morning, the storm had already long passed; a gloomy sky and the remaining still water its only lingering aftereffects. It was to this sight that Shuyin woke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and staring at the gray beyond the mist covered window. After turning on his side and nearly falling off of the couch, he had spotted Lenne, sitting at the side of the bed and staring at the ceiling in contemplation.

After the requisite “Good morning,” from both and a few minutes of silence, she had turned to him, eyes filled with the same anxiety that had been there the night before. “Are you absolutely sure about becoming a guardian?” she had asked, scooting to the foot of the bed as to face him. “It will be a lot of work, you know, and it will take time.”

As certain of his decision as he had been the previous night, he had nodded confidently. “I’m sure.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” she had added, trying futilely to change his mind. However, his answer had remained the same. After a few more seconds of contemplative silence, she had conceded. “All right,” she had said. And thus, with her hesitant blessing, his training began.

Officially becoming a guardian had been surprisingly easy. “Emperor Yevon only has to initiate new summoners,” Lenne had explained as the two strolled across one of the crowded bridges a few days later. “Guardians aren’t under his direct jurisdiction.”

“I thought the summoners were independent,” Shuyin had commented, absently running his fingers over the guardrail.

“We were, up until Emperor Yevon’s reign,” she had clarified. “He’s a very powerful summoner, and he took far more interest in us than his predecessors did. Now we work under him, and he provides us with funding for medical supplies and temple upkeep.”

“All right,” Shuyin had answered, turning to look at the artificial waterfall that fell past them onto the level below, wondering to himself why the temples were so shabby and there were so few supplies to be had.

However, where his initiation had been painless, his actual training had been another matter entirely. Since Lenne was admittedly rather ignorant as far as sword fighting was concerned, she quickly employed another, more experienced guardian to school Shuyin in its intricacies. It only took a few sessions of torn clothes, scored skin, embarrassing trips, and overbearing condescendence before Shuyin grew to strongly dislike the man.

Lenne, fortunately enough, had been a much more pleasant tutor. Her patience apparently inexhaustible, she had taken on the task of educating him in the finer points of magic casting (as expected, she got remarkably good at ducking whenever necessary). In addition, she spent quite a bit of time teaching him about the temples, summoners, and the workings of their collation.

One of the first things she had explained to him was the summons—no, Aeons. She’d brought him to Zanarkand’s southern-most temple, a run-down, dome-shaped affair with arches that jutted rather pointlessly outward from its roof. She explained the situation of the various temples to him—that there were eight, that each was set in one of the eight directions of the compass—before moving on to her explanation of their purpose.

“They house the Fayth,” she had said, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear, only to have it fly back into her face a moment later. “Back when Zanarkand was just a village, eight of our ancestors gave up their souls, and had them sealed away in stone. That way, they would remain behind, even after their bodies were gone, so that they could protect their home and families.”

“And . . . being stuck in a rock helps them protect Zanarkand?” Shuyin had asked, blinking in confusion.

“That’s where we come in,” Lenne had explained, lacing her fingers behind her back. “A summoner will pray to a Fayth with all their heart, and if that Fayth sees that they truly want to protect Zanarkand, the hearts of the Fayth and the summoner will join together. That’s where the Aeons come from.”

“And that’s what that dance is for, right?” Shuyin had replied, snapping his fingers with this realization.

“Dance?” Lenne had asked. “You don’t mean the Sending.”

“No, not that,” he had said, waving his hands. “That dance thing you do when you summon something,” Backing up a bit, he had tried to replicate what he had seen at the shore all those weeks prior, specifically what he had seen from Lenne. He had quickly ceased however, turning his head to the side and kicking at the ground self-consciously, when had he noticed Lenne fighting back giggles. “Does that get their attention, or something?”

“No, but it does help to attract the pyreflies,” she had answered, gently swaying from side to side. “Though, it’s really more for _our_ benefit. It helps us to concentrate. We can summon without it, but it’s a lot bigger strain and takes a lot more focus.” Turning to face him and noticing his still embarrassed disposition, her eyes had taken on an apologetic—though still amused—look.

“Come on,” she had said, walking up beside him and waving for him to follow her. “I’ll show you the temple I’ll be praying at soon.”

Even with all the help he received from her, and all the training he endured, his entrance into guardian-hood had still hardly been spectacular. At least, not in the way he would have hoped. Yasuo occasionally liked to comment on how nearly setting the northern temple on fire was rather spectacular, right before Shuyin punched him in the head. Needless to say, he hadn’t been much help when the Bevelle forces had returned for another assault.

“Look out!” Lenne had shouted at him as he tried to recover from losing his footing. She had thrown the top of her staff in front of his face, a bullet clanging off of it not a half-moment later. He stumbled again, tripping over himself in shock.

Pulling the wand back toward her, she had held her it between the palms of her hands, much like she had done during Bevelle and Zanarkand’s previous clash at the shore. Then, she had brought her hands apart, a shield spell flashing once around him before disappearing.

“Be ca—” she had started, but had been quickly silenced when a thunder spell crashed atop her head, transferring the charge to each limb and finger, and sending her reeling to the ground.

“Lenne!” he had screamed in horror, scrambling to her side as she struggled to right herself. Keeping one eye trained on the Bevelle soldiers (though there was admittedly not much he could do if they decided to attack, save for acting as a human shield), he had done his best to help steady her. “Are you all right?” he had inquired rather fitfully as he helped her to her feet.

“Yeah,” she had breathed, blinking rapidly to right her vision. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Pulling herself away from his steadying grasp, she held her staff high above her head and gestured for him to step back. “Let’s be a little more careful,” she said jokingly as she began to spin the wand, though there was still obvious tension in her voice. 

Needless to say, by the time Bevelle’s forces had completely disappeared beyond Gagazet’s icy slopes, he had found himself to be rather unpopular with the rest of the group. “ _He’s_ the guardian,” he had heard a clergy member whispering rather loudly to a few of her comrades. “Lady Lenne shouldn’t have to be protect _him_.” As a result, he spent the rest of that day not only berating himself, but also nursing a shattered ego.

Still, Lenne’s patience surpassed his early ineptitude and personal disgrace, and she had continued to suffer him with a smile (and occasionally a fearful eye during his more prominent moments of stupidity). Accordingly, though his magic casting skills never did get beyond mediocre, his swordsmanship had begun to steadily improve. It even got to the point that he could come out of his training sessions bearing only a few minor scratches.

Eventually, as he had begun to grow more comfortable with his position and abilities, he in turn started to customize his fighting style. It was, to say the least, unique—that had become apparent when he’d presented Lenne with his new weapon of choice: a combat-equipped blitzball.

“Um . . . how safe is this, exactly?” she had asked, holding the menacing orb as if it might detonate at any time. Meanwhile, her eyes had been nervously trained upon the metal spikes that protruded from it, the light having made their sharpness unnervingly apparent.

“As safe as anything else, if you know how to use it,” he had answered, plucking it from her hands and holding it as casually as if the spikes were non-existent.

“I don’t know, Shuyin,” she had said, eying the weapon apprehensively. However, after he had proved its usefulness by taking out a cruiser’s-worth of Bevelle combatants with it, that uneasiness had faded, though it had taken a while to completely vanish. All in all, as the day that marked four months since their initial agreement had drawn nearer, it had become clear that their partnership had been a worthy gamble.

And, even as these events were taking place, other parts of their lives had begun to undergo changes of their own.

Yasuo, it seemed, had become more perceptive as time passed. “You’re seeing someone behind my back, aren’t you?” he had said rather dramatically on one occasion, to which Shuyin responded with a look of utmost confusion and disgust. However, his curiosity obviously hadn’t been quelled by his own observations, and he would almost constantly ask about “the girl in the white robe.” Every time, Shuyin had truthfully said that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and that the girl in question was his summoner (his position as a guardian being the only thing he had conceded to explain). Thankfully, with their practices becoming both longer and more frequent, he had been able to easily brush the question off with a comment about “needing to practice,” time and time again.

Meanwhile, Lenne’s popularity had been steadily increasing, the attending crowd growing larger and larger with each concert. This had made getting a ticket increasing difficult each time. However, Yasuo and Shuyin had made a point of attending whenever time and space permitted.

Having people stop her on the street had become gradually more and more common, even when she had dressed in her summoner attire for concealment’s sake. Shuyin had witnessed it for himself on one occasion, when a jittery man that looked about two years his junior had picked her out amongst the crowd and asked for a handshake.

“Looks like you won’t be able to disguise yourself for much longer,” Shuyin had commented, watching with a raised eyebrow as the man wandered away, muttering into a sphere recorder with a mix of disbelief and bliss.

“It does seem that way,” Lenne had replied, flattered, though at the same time slightly uneasy.

Before long, she had even attracted the attention of Emperor Yevon's daughter, Yunalesca, who had supposedly claimed that she was quite eager to see this songstress for herself. Lenne had tried to appear as calm as possible when she had found out, but her fretful pacing had quickly given her away.

However, even with these new stresses there to fill their hours, the two were by no means displeased with the changes. As time passed, it appeared that a heavy burden was lifted from Lenne’s shoulders, one that had been eating away at her happier moments for quite a while. When Shuyin spotted her during moments of quiet contemplation, her eyes were far less likely to hold the apprehension that had become far too familiar to them. She smiled just as much as she always had, but as time passed and the burden slowly became less and less, each was more apt to be genuine. Though he couldn’t say for sure, Shuyin hoped that he had something to do with it.

Shuyin’s happiness, meanwhile, was one of a more discrete nature. Though the majority of the time he didn’t spend sleeping was divided between his ongoing training as a guardian and Nirui’s agonizingly long blitzball practices, he somehow didn’t feel the need to gripe. Despite the humiliations that he had to endure for his swordsmanship training, he grudgingly admitted that it bettered him. Not to mention that, as his skills improved, so did his ability to succeed as a guardian. The blitzball practices, while even more annoying at times (thanks in particular to Yasuo and Nirui), had their benefits. For instance, without the extensive preparation, they wouldn’t stand a chance in the match they were currently in.

“And a brilliant interception by Abes captain Nirui!” the commentator exclaimed as Nirui threw herself in front of the streaking blitzball, gathering it to her chest and taking the full force of the hit. From where Shuyin was floating, he watched her back-flip through the water a few times, her eyes crossed and a look of agony painting her face. “Looks like she’ll be feeling that one tomorrow, folks,” the commentator added, a bit too smugly.

Ducking around one of the opposing team’s defenders, Shuyin watched as Nirui righted herself, wiped the look of pain from her face, and feverishly scanned the sphere pool for her comrades. As the opposing team rapidly advanced upon her, Nirui reeled back and let the ball fly. It went sailing over Shuyin’s head and settled in the hands of Kilea, who was but a few feet from the goal.

An instant and a disgustingly audible crack later, a dazed Kilea was virtually wrapped around the goal post, the ball now held securely in the hands of an opposing team member. Boos rang from the Abes’ side of the stadium, mingling with heated chants of “foul,” which went ignored by the referee.

Casting a quick look at the scoreboard, where the count still read 4-4 and the clock was ticking down from one minute, Shuyin launched himself forward, barreling toward the player in question. Parallel to him was Yasuo, his heavy strokes carrying him just as swiftly as his comrade. With a force that would later be compared to that of a charging shoopuf, the two slammed into the player head-on, sending him lurching backwards as the ball tumbled away.

Diving rapidly and knocking another opposing player out of the way with a strategically placed shoulder, Shuyin grabbed the ball, barely letting its bumpy surface graze his fingertips before he shot it heavenward, right into the waiting hands of Yasuo.

It was nothing short of a brutal frenzy after that. As the clock reached thirty seconds, players were shooting heatedly about the sphere, lunging through the water with whatever strength they still had left. It was warfare amongst them, as they did whatever possible to keep the ball away from their opposing team. Feet were haphazardly slammed into ribs, well-situated elbows were smashed into unguarded faces, and one of the opposing players started screaming for referee intervention when Kilea sunk her teeth into his hand. At twenty seconds, Shuyin spotted the ball as it landed squarely in the hands of an opposing player not arm’s length away. Promptly, he kicked the man in the face, and hastily snatched the ball away. Sixteen seconds.

A quickly as he could, Shuyin released the ball, mustered what remained of his strength, and delivered to it a brutal kick, sending it spiraling for the goal. A moment later, he was viciously rammed from the side by another player and sent spinning, quickly choking back a shout of surprise and ache to avoiding inhaling a lung-full of water. Twelve seconds.

Regaining his composure and ducking under his attacker’s arm, he watched as the ball sailed toward the goal, leaving a trail of bubbles and horrified opposition players in its wake. Eight seconds.

However, instead of gliding into the back of the net as he hoped it would, it bounced harshly off of the goal post, ricocheting back into the sphere pool. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouted in frustration, though it came out completely incomprehensible.

Then, the ball was in Yasuo’s hands again and, his jaw set and eyes determined, he pulled back and let it fly once more. Six seconds. The goal-keep launched toward it, but despite his best efforts, the ball was soon tightly nestled in the back of the net. The horn blasted, announcing the goal to the entire stadium. In the time it took to sound, the last four seconds ran out, leaving the scoreboard empty but for the 5-4 tally.

A second laden with disbelief ticked by, and then the Abes’ section of the stadium exploded into earsplitting applause. Likewise, the players themselves went into a flurry of elation, most clinging to their closest teammate in a victory hug. Nirui, for her part, was sobbing with glee into Yasuo’s shoulder, complimenting him profusely and promising that she would never make him swim laps again. The rest of the team affixed to them like iron dust to a magnet, drinking in the sweetness of this season’s first victory before breaking apart and gliding toward the locker room.

One game would not get them to the finals, however. Shuyin knew that, and he could tell that the rest of the team knew it as well. Come next practice, Nirui would be screeching at them once again, making them work twice as hard to make up for the championship that they had let slide by them. Still, right then, none of that mattered. The Abes had finally won a game, and by the looks on their faces, not a single one of the players could have been happier.

As they pushed open the locker room door and stepped out into corridor, animatedly chattering all the while, Shuyin couldn’t help but notice a familiar white silhouette waiting by the stairway. Turning away from her inspection of the designs on the wall, Lenne quickly spotted the joyous band as they poured into the hallway. Catching Shuyin’s eye, a delighted smile lit her face; one that silently said everything that the shouts of ecstasy within and without the sphere had said. In addition, there was a sort of sureness about it, as if their win tonight, though delighting her, did not surprise her in the least. Shuyin felt a smile creeping onto his own face at the sight of it. As they stood there, the euphoria of their first victory still in effect, every problem forgotten, and Lenne’s serene smile still in place when he went up to greet her, it was safe to say that life really couldn’t get much better.

\---

A few days before another of Lenne’s concerts, Yunalesca made good on her supposed word. The message quickly got back to Lenne that two box seats had been reserved for some ‘important guests’; ones who had made the request to have guards accompany them to the affair (the fact that permission was so quickly granted only helped to prove the assumption. After all, who would deny the city’s heiress what she wanted?)

Lenne, to say the very least, was frenzied. As soon as word reached her, it seemed as if all her spare time was spent practicing. On more than one occasion, she found herself mouthing the words to a song as she and Shuyin wandered about the crowded streets, and more than once he had walked in on a rehearsal when he came to see her. Even now, as she and Shuyin stood beneath the stage, the energized crowd hidden from their eyes by the thick corridor walls, she was far from composed.

“You’ve got to calm down,” Shuyin said to her as she paced back and forth, wringing her hands and groaning anxiously. “It might not even be her, you know.”

“I know,” she reiterated, her fingers tightly laced together and her eyes shifting about erratically, though they never once left the floor. “But still . . .” Another fretful moan, and she grew silent, stewing in her own tense aura.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Shuyin turn away, rubbing the back of his head rather bemusedly, as if the friction would help create some sort of mental spark. That left Lenne to pace, as well as listen to the click of her own shallow heels echoing about the empty hallway as she muttered half-audible remarks of, “ . . .have to calm down . . .” and “But it’s Emperor Yevon’s _daughter_ . . .”

Above, the lights flickered, dying completely for a moment before popping back to life. Lenne looked up at them, realizing that the crew must have been working with the main circuit to dim the stadium lights. The show would be starting soon, which only helped to increase her already severe anxiety.

“Hey,” Shuyin said after a few moments, his own shoes scraping against the floor as he turned to face her. “This might help. Yasuo was showing this to me earlier. I thought you might want it.”

For a moment, Lenne paused in her fitful pacing, turning to acknowledge him. “Hm?” she said questioningly as he came up beside her and lightly placed a video sphere into her hand. “What’s this?” she asked as she held it up to eye-level, her unease momentarily replaced by curiosity.

“It’s a video of your last show,” he clarified as the recording began to play. Behind the bit of static that accompanied the footage, she spotted something that, to her unprepared eye, seemed rather strange. There was her own miniaturized image, swaying to music that could just barely be heard, even in the hallway’s virtual silence. The microphone—which was barely visible, given the size of the picture—was held to her lips, her own voice dominating the recording. She was moving with a sort of eccentric liveliness, as if there was nothing else but the audience and the show. All the while, her smile (a genuine one, if she remembered the night correctly) never once left her face.

“Just do that,” he said, pointing at the sphere as the image within it died away. “Like you always do.”

Blinking, Lenne closed her hands around the small globe, turning a smiling face toward Shuyin. “That sounds good,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, a stagehand called out to her from the end of the hall, announcing that the show was set to start within the minute. Her attention now back on the matter at hand, the anxiety began to rise in her stomach once again. This time, however, she quickly forced it down, taking a deep breath to further calm herself.

“Don’t worry,” said Shuyin, resting his hand upon her shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll do great. You always do.”

“Thank you,” Lenne repeated as he pulled his hand away.

“I’ll see you after the show, all right?” he asked over his shoulder, his stride quickly picking up speed.

“Sure,” she called back. As he disappeared around the corner, she too turned away, jogging down the hallway in the opposite direction. Then, after handing the video sphere to the confused stagehand and taking one last, calming breath, she confidently stepped out into the familiar darkness and noise, ready to put on a show.

\---

“About time,” said Yasuo as Shuyin plopped down beside him. “I was this close,”—he held his thumb and index finger up, the distance between them barely noticeable—“to pawning off your ticket.”

“On pain of death?” Shuyin retorted, an eyebrow raised. “ _I_ paid for these, remember?”

“That hardly matters,” Yasuo replied, absently tugging at a thread on his sleeve. “Why let you have a spot that you’re not going to appreciate? Think of it. Some poor soul is probably outside right now, trying to think of some way to get in here to see Lenne. Why do you deserve a seat more than him?”

Shaking his head and not bothering to respond, Shuyin turned his attention to more important matters. Looking upward, he started scanning the boxes that were situated above the higher-level stadium seats, eyes flicking from one set of chairs to the next. Finally, just as the lights were beginning to dim, he spotted the person he was looking for. Just as the rumors had claimed, there was Yunalesca, leaning unperturbedly against the box’s metallic ledge. She lazily twisted a few strands of her long, silver hair around her finger, the rest of it flowing down both of her shoulders and stretched far past where Shuyin could see. Lord Zaon was close at her side, his own expression a strange mix of that which his wife wore, and that of the stern-faced guards that stood at the ready behind them.

Just as Shuyin was beginning to detest the sentinels’ presence (why couldn’t reminders of Zanarkand’s state of affairs stay outside the stadium?), the lights went out completely, throwing the stadium into near darkness. Confused mutterings began to resonate through the stands, but were quickly stemmed when a soft hum began to sound from the hidden amplifiers.

“This can’t be real,” said a voice, the person speaking hidden deep within the shadows. Then, with the piercing crash of a drum, the lights sprang to life once again, simultaneously illuminating the stands and stage with a brilliant flash.

There was Lenne, standing nearly at the lip of the circular stage, two backup singers on the stage behind her. Before the shock of their sudden appearance was able to fade away, she was already moving, her steps quick and brief to fit the rapid beat of the music. Her voice, moving just as swiftly as her feet, was already flowing through the amps, a mixture of it and the music encompassing the now cheering crowd.

“Life can only be so good, that I’ve figured out,” she sang, the two behind her echoing the last few words. “Nothing ever is as good as what I dream about.”

Twirling in place and turning to Shuyin’s side of the stadium, she raised a hand toward the hundreds of people there, as if she were singing to each of them alone. At least, that’s what he thought it felt like.

“That’s why I can’t help but think this is a fantasy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, standing next to me.”

She lingered that way for a moment, her hand held out to them, her smile and eyes serene, and the anxiety of a few minutes before seemingly forgotten. Shuyin leaned forward a bit, his chin resting in his palm, his grin very much similar to hers. Pricked by déjà vu, the memory of that first concert sprang to life, and he couldn’t help but note the similarities between how she had been then, and how she was now. She still had the same brunette hair, which swirled about her as she turned to face a different part of the crowd, the same simple, hourglass figure, and the same good-looking outfit. However, even with this obvious consistency, he couldn’t help but notice that there was something different about her.

A booming sound quickly pulled him from his revere, and he briefly looked up at the source, wondering why such a note was added to the fast-paced track. It hardly fit with those that it accompanied, given the song’s upbeat tune. Disregarding it as the composer’s bad taste, he turned his eyes back to Lenne.

The booming note came again, this time from a different part of the stadium. He noticed Lenne turning toward the noise just as he had a moment before, as well as one of the two backup singers. The note sounded a third time, louder than it had been before, and still not comparable with the rest of the music. Though she never paused in her singing, Lenne once again turned toward the noise, trying to hide the look of confusion that was beginning to surface on her face.

“Yasuo?” Shuyin said, looking at the other man out of the corner of his eye. A fourth boom sounded from behind them, louder still than the one before it. “Someth—”

The base of the stage exploded.

A scream of sheer terror—which, Shuyin quickly realized, was Lenne’s—rang through the stadium, amplified by the microphone until it became an unbearable screech. The three people on the stage were immediately flung down onto the platform, which was rapidly falling with the shattering of its base. Immediately, the stands filled with very similar screams of fright and horror.

“Lenne!” Shuyin shouted instinctively, jumping from his seat. Then, another explosion, this time from above them. Swinging around, he spotted the mangled remains of Yunalesca’s box, bits of steel and brick coming loose and tumbling down onto the people below. A third, this time in the northern section of the seats, went off, sending people and chucks of metal flying through the air. Within the instant, they were raining back down again, crashing upon those fleeing for cover.

“It’s an attack!” screamed Yasuo as a fourth explosion rocked the rapidly weakening stadium. Quickly, he hopped over the line of seats in front of them, quickly bypassing the congestion created by several rather panicked individuals in their row. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Impulsively, Shuyin whipped around to face the stage once more. What remained of the base was groaning with the effort of holding up the platform, which was nearly vertical by now. Obviously, it wouldn’t hold up for more than another few seconds. Lenne and the backup singers were nowhere in sight.

“Shuyin!” Yasuo shouted frantically, by now several seats away from his companion. Reluctantly tearing his attention away from the horror that was the stage, Shuyin quickly pivoted around and bolted toward Yasuo.

However, before he could get far, the horrible noise of snapping and grinding metal met his ears, and another explosion blasted through the stands, too close this time. Turning his head, Shuyin was only able to see a flash of fire and twisted metal before his feet left the ground, and he was suddenly, painfully, airborne. He slammed with a sickening thud on the walkway below, momentum carrying him a few more feet before he came to an agonizing halt. He was just able to see the stage base break clean in two with a screaming snap before everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, I think he’s calmed down. Do you have some eye drops? Thanks, thanks.”

These words bounced lazily back and forth inside Shuyin’s head, warped and echoing, as if he were hearing them from the bottom of a lake. Beyond them, as if from further away, there were other distorted sounds. Bustling, shouting, screaming, frantic footsteps, an alarm . . .

“Shuyin,” a resonating voice called to him. “Shuyin, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

“Yasuo?” Shuyin choked out, his own voice nearly inaudible, even as the background noises began to grow louder and more distinct. “I can’t see.”

“Working on it,” Yasuo responded quickly. This was abruptly followed by the sound of tearing plastic, and then a cool, soothing sensation through his eyes, which he now realized had been burning uncomfortably. Almost immediately, he was blinded by a brilliant light, and for several moments he saw naught but white. Then, slowly, shapes began to emerge from the bright mire. One of said shapes leaned forward some, and the features of Yasuo quickly appeared upon it.

“Do you realize how much of an ass you are when you’re confused?” Yasuo said, pointing irritably at his eye, the skin around which was already beginning to swell.

“What?” Shuyin asked, voice crackly and weak. Feebly, he tried to prop himself up, but quickly found himself on his back again, pain shooting through every one of his limbs and an undignified yelp on his lips.

“Careful,” Yasuo advised with the manner of a chiding mother. “Don’t move around too much. You’re in pretty bad shape, especially your head.”

Moving a bit slower this time, Shuyin tried to reach his arms back to examine his head for himself and see what Yasuo was talking about. The first one was a no-go; turning it even slightly was agony. His other arm however, while sore, was fortunately able to bend at the correct angle. Gingerly touching the side of his head, his fingers met an uncomfortable warmth and tackiness. Groaning, he set his arm back at his side, not having to see the red on his hand to know what it was.

Briefly, Shuyin tossed around the idea of checking the damage to the rest of his body, but quickly realized that that wouldn’t be possible, considering that he was all but immobile. This was just as well, he realized, as the memory of the explosion began to return to him in more vivid color. Frankly, he preferred to wait as long as possible to see the extent of his injuries, as well as figure out just why he couldn’t feel his feet.

“What happened?” he asked, staring at the palm of his hand, where an untreated wound was beginning to clot.

“They say they aren’t going to disclose anything until they’re sure,” Yasuo answered. “But, I have been hearing things.”

“Like?”

“Some Bevelle spies were able to infiltrate the stadium without being noticed. Well, that’s not completely true. Somebody claimed that they saw one of them in the hallway leading up to the box seats. Said he was looking for the restroom or something and got off.”

“And they set up bombs?”

“Supposedly. One in Yunalesca’s box, one under the stage, one in each section of the stands.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shuyin spotted Yasuo curling his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead on them. “And . . . apparently, they set up one in each section of the lobby and outer hallway. That’s what those earlier blasts were. They think it was because,”—a pause, the feeling about it a very disturbed one—“because they wanted to make it harder for the people inside to get out, and for help to get in.”

Though the lack of effectiveness of digging his nails into the concrete was quickly established, the ferocity that built within Shuyin’s chest wouldn’t let him quit. “Have they found them yet?”

“No. They’re looking though. This entire district’s been sealed off to help with the effort. Actually, all of the east quarter has been.” Turning toward his companion, Yasuo attempted a lopsided smile. “There’s a reason we’re not in a proper hospital, you know.”

“When are they going to let us go?” Shuyin asked warily, rather sure that he already knew the answer and praying that he didn’t.

“Until those guys are caught, or the authorization is given to remove the barricades. That’s what I’m getting from all the yelling that’s been going on, anyway.”

“Wonderful,” Shuyin spat, knocking his fist against the ground and gritting his teeth at the twinge of pain that ran through it. Laying his head against the grit of the street, he gazed at the sideways picture of hell beyond. For the first time since he had woken, he saw for himself that they were no longer in the stadium. The streetlights—which were what had initially blinded him—shone down upon the street that led to the stadium. At the same time, it illuminated the bodies that had been spread out across the concrete once they were dragged from the arena. Shuyin let his gaze drift about the scene, trying to find a place where he could rest it without having to look at death. However, he found no such place. Screams and tears and pain encompassed the entirety of the ghastly scene, and without the aid that was so desperately needed, death would become even more prevalent soon.

Out of habit of thought, he momentarily pondered whether or not the summoners would come. The people that had died from the attack would have to be Sent, since it could be certain that most of them would not take to death willingly . . . then recollection hit him as harshly as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

“Has anyone said anything about Lenne?” he said, dropping the nonchalant tone that the subject had entailed in the past. He did try to hide the fear and desperation from his voice though, but it didn’t go so well. That foggy image flashed before his eyes once again: the stage support snapping in half before the whole thing went crashing to the ground. There was nowhere she could have gone but beneath it. Not the way it was tilting . . .

For a moment, he could feel Yasuo’s gaze boring into the side of his head, and did his best to ignore it. Then, the moment elapsed, and his patience was rewarded with a suspicious, “No. Not that I’ve heard.”

“Right,” said Shuyin, eyes turning towards the starless night sky so that he wouldn’t have to look at anything else. However, he found no sanctuary there either, for his gaze soon fell upon a fat pillar of smoke, the stadium undoubtedly its source. He then sufficed for shutting his eyes altogether. “Just . . . tell me if you hear anything, all right?”

Another pause. “Sure,” came the response. Though the tone was ripe with curiosity, there came no follow-up question, for which Shuyin was grateful. From there, the two fell to silence, leaving them with nothing to do but try not to listen to the screams.

\---

By the time the first grayish rays of sunlight made an attempt to peek past the buildings, several Zanarkand officials could be spotted moving down the rows of bodies, demanding the names of each individual they passed (to the person themselves, or to a neighbor, if the person in question was too far gone to speak). Upon receiving each name, they would scan the directories on the clipboards held tightly in their arms, make a check, and move on. However, on occasion, additional officers were called over, and the person in question would be hauled away, more often than not on a stretcher.

“They’re checking identities,” Yasuo said offhandedly, rolling a shoulder and stretching his arms out. “Making sure everyone here is a resident.”

“And if they’re not . . .?” Shuyin muttered, watching as a half-crippled man was dragged to his feet by a pair of officials and quickly escorted down his row. He had to have been at least sixty.

Yasuo twitched involuntarily. “Pity them, I say.”

Mercifully, with the coming of these officials came a various assortment of mages, alchemists, and even a misplaced summoner or two. They worked with a frantic efficiency, dancing amongst the lines and handing out potions, remedies, and cure spells as they saw fit. Eventually, one of the alchemists—a blunt, aloof woman—stopped beside Shuyin and Yasuo, assessed them, set down a few hi-potions, and swiftly departed.

“Looks like they’re saving the X-potions for those guys who are really bad off,” Yasuo commented, twisting the corks off two of the hi-potion bottles and handing one to Shuyin.

“Hey, if you’re going to whine about it, I’ll take yours,” Shuyin threatened. “More for me.”

“Point taken,” Yasuo conceded, knocking his bottle against the one Shuyin held. “Cheers,” he said, and downed the concoction, Shuyin following suit.

After draining two of the hi-potion bottles and setting them aside, Shuyin laid back for a few moments, feeling the tonic run through his blood and rush toward his wounds. Soon after, the pain began to ebb away, leaving behind a deadened ache instead of the searing sting that had accompanied his movements before. After checking his hand and finding the wound there gone, he slowly got to his feet and tested his mended—but still fragile—body. The ache was sharper when he moved, running down his bones like fire on an oil trail, but he didn’t let it hinder him.

When he had adjusted enough that it was possible to walk with a lesser amount of pain, Shuyin started down the rows at a limp, briefly scanning each person for brown hair and brown eyes, as well as any sort of cobalt cloth.

As he surveyed each of them, he saw that in addition to having more ghastly wounds than he cared to see, several of them were inflicted with a variety of strange anomalies. There were those with a greenish tinge, accompanied by spastic convulsions; eyes blackened with an unnatural sort of smoke; screams stolen from throats, leaving the victim in question only to gasp and cough in wake of their voice; bodies immobile and tinted a sickly sort of gray, or with yellow sparks flying about before their eyes; and lastly, there were those whose skin radiated a deep and threatening crimson. Most of those that were inflicted with the last two, he noticed, had been painstakingly strapped down.

Yasuo was close at his heels during the entire excursion, occasionally supplying a comment to the effect of, ““Why are you so worried?” or “You don’t even know her”.

Shuyin, however, remained silent, continuing to check each of the bodies and nursing a twisted stomach after coming in contact with any deceased ones that looked too familiar. He wandered indiscriminately, both praying for and fearing when he would find Lenne. He contemplated what kind of shape she might be in when that time rolled around, which did nothing but bring him very close to being sick. The smell of blood and charred flesh didn’t exactly help with the unwanted visions either.

Quickly, he realized that the body count was far worse than he had been able to work out from his earlier position. The rows stretched down the street, weaving around corners and continuing on for what seemed like an eternity.

As he followed these rows, pausing every once in a while to ask questions of the conscious and to check those that looked familiar at first glance, he soon found his way back to the stadium. When he saw it, a word quickly came to mind, and he found no other word to better describe it: obliterated.

Almost the entire roof was gone, probably having collapsed in upon itself long before. Only a small piece retained some semblance of its previous shape, and even then the metal that composed it was jutting out at disturbing angles. Bits of debris floated about the water surrounding the building, each carrying the dismal feel of a corpse after a shipwreck. The walls were blown out, leaving a frail skeleton of metal and concrete to support the building’s much heavier top end. Truly, it looked as if it might collapse at any moment.

“Bevelle’s not playing around anymore,” Yasuo said cryptically as the two stared at the building, which was to some the first sign of a war that had begun long ago.

Shuyin didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift up the pillar of smoke that rose from the stadium’s open roof, and then back down to the stadium itself, where the shouts of rescue crews could still be heard. Immediately, a wave of nausea hit him as he fell upon the thought of her still being inside. Again, he thought of the stage, and the fact that she had nowhere to go but underneath it.

He must have unknowingly voiced such terrors, for Yasuo then turned to him, an eyebrow raised, asking, “She who? Lenne?”

Another moment of panic, and Shuyin quickly turned away, forcing himself to calm down. Once again, he didn’t answer Yasuo’s query, and instead resumed his path down the rows. At the moment, Shuyin didn’t find refuting the other man to be a worthy pursuit. What did it matter anymore if he knew? It really wasn’t a secret worth keeping now. Not if Lenne was dead.

\---

The day wore on slowly, shadows twisting around and mirroring themselves upon different stretches of pavement as the sun continued its trip across the sky. Meanwhile, the atmosphere of the entire eastern quarter worsened with each passing hour, reaching a point of near intolerability around early afternoon. However, it wasn’t until the sun was almost fully obstructed by the buildings to the west that anything was done to solve the problem.

Shuyin paused near a petrified individual, squinting in the bad light to get a better look at the person’s features. However, he was once again disappointed—or relieved; he still wasn’t sure—to find that the figure was not Lenne. Then, just as he was moving on to the next person in the row, someone gave him an almighty shove. A second later he found himself face down against the concrete, a few frantic individuals nearly trampling him in a desperate attempt to get by. Rolling out of the aisle as to avoid being trodden upon, Shuyin slowly got to his feet, stumbling a bit and holding his head in agony. “I already had a headache,” he mumbled wearily to himself. This remark was drowned out a moment later however, as the sound of hasty footsteps and hysterical shouting grew to a dull roar.

Lifting his eyes and glancing to and fro, Shuyin saw what seemed to be almost all of his fellow detainees bolting frantically down the street. Some were even carrying those too weak to walk.

A hand latched onto Shuyin’s wrist as he glanced about, startling him until he found the owner of the hand to be Yasuo. “They’ve lifted the barricades!” Yasuo called over the commotion, signaling toward where the crowd was retreating. “Let’s get out of here!”

For a moment, Shuyin glanced over his shoulder, eyes tracing a skyline that only hours before had been choked with smoke. His search for Lenne had turned up nothing; not even someone who had seen her or knew of her condition. A picture of the ruined stadium played before his eyes, and paranoia began to twist uncomfortably in his stomach once again.

Then the moment was over, and he fiercely shook the thought away. Responding to Yasuo’s exclamation with merely a grunt and a nod, Shuyin dashed into the stream of bodies with the other man close behind, both doing their best not to be tripped and crushed.

\---

The next hour or so passed as if in a dream. Vaguely, Shuyin recalled reaching the blockade, his body laden with quite a few more bruises than he had had previously. Bestial screams rang in his ears, only to be lost as they reached his confusion enshrouded mind. His head had started bleeding again at some point, most likely from the frenzied pushing and shoving of the rest of the crowd. He also recollected being held against a wall, pinned there by those much more eager and driven to escape than himself.

However, both he and Yasuo eventually made it through without being completely trampled, by some fortunate twist of fate. Once they’d accomplished that, they split from the crowd as quickly as possible, doing their best to avoid the roads that led to the hospitals. And, to Shuyin’s dismay, not once during the tiresome trek from B-East to Yasuo’s flat in D-South did he spot even the slightest trace of cobalt.

That however, didn’t keep Lenne out of the conversation once they were away from the upheaval.

“So,” Yasuo started, sprawled out across his makeshift couch and lazily spinning a blitzball on his finger, “why exactly were you looking for Lenne?”

“You saw what happened to the stage,” Shuyin commented, partially succeeding in keeping the uncomfortable wringing in his stomach down, so that it was hardly noticeable in his voice. “She could have gotten really hurt." 

“Right,” Yasuo commented offhandedly. “Which is why you’re also _so_ worried about her back-ups, right?” 

Silence.

“And not to mention the people in the crowd. I could just see your conviction while you sifting through them.”

More silence.

“Oh, and Yunalesca. I can just tell you’re horribly worried about what happened to her, her being the future empress and all . . .”

“Please shut up,” Shuyin finally responded, holding his head in one hand. He was in no mood to argue, with worry and fatigue lying as heavily as it did upon him. “I don’t need this right now.”

While the plea did bring a more complete silence to the room, it didn’t work for very long. After a few seconds’ pause, Yasuo cast a knowing smile in Shuyin’s direction, tossing him the blitzball to get his attention. “So, is she just as cute up close?”

His shoulders rigid, Shuyin turned to Yasuo and narrowed his eyes in a near-livid glare. Though later Yasuo would sarcastically claim that while under that gaze he heard the sound of a small solar system imploding, at the time he casually turned his eyes toward the ceiling, giving Shuyin the leeway to direct his own back out the window.

Beyond the glass, the city lights were even brighter than usual. However, there were not celebrations to be had there. People were hiding in those buildings, blazing artificial light their only means of escaping the dark that until now had not threatened them. In others, he knew that some were trying desperately to save the lives of their friends and family, though the sentence for those poor souls had probably been given hours before.

Meanwhile, in the streets, shouts of fear and rage were commonplace, as if the city were inhabited by rabid animals instead of people. Leaning forward for a better look, Shuyin could immediately tell that the people that dotted the roads were hardly passive characters. If he had to guess, they were angry not only about the attacks on the stadium, but at their own city for the detainment, and for leaving them with no information in regard to what was going to happen to them next.

“Do you think it would be worth it to chance a visit to the west quarter?”

“Oh sure,” said Yasuo, the couch creaking as he got to his feet. He stopped beside Shuyin, glancing out the window himself. “If you’re willing to ask those rioters to kindly move aside for you. You might be able to crawl there after they beat you into the concrete.”

“Smart ass,” said Shuyin venomously, brushing past Yasuo to filch the man’s place on the couch. Plopping down and facing the cushions, Shuyin muttered a command to wake him when the crowd dispersed, and set in to surrender to a restless sleep.

\---

Lenne was an absolute mess. She hadn’t slept a wink the night of the attack, instead devoting her time to the frantic casting of white magic spells as a means of aiding the fallen. After casting two cura spells on her back-up singers and thanking them fervently for their help in escaping the stage, she was off into the crowd, tripping in her haste.

 

The rest of the night was spent under the glare of the blazing streetlights, her every action executed as the situation demanded. For the first half of the night, she had been casting cure and esuna spells as quickly as her staff could swing. Then, when there were no more ethers and spell casting became impossible, she resigned to comforting those still waiting for aid.

In addition, she was also presented with a far graver task: performing Sendings whenever the circumstances called for it. Though she knew it was her duty as a summoner and performed it without question, she couldn’t help but feel her stomach clenching painfully in fear whenever she was given the order to do another. This was not only because it signaled another meaningless death, but also because she knew that at any time, she could find herself sending Shuyin.

This fear stayed with her throughout the entire night, arriving with each new soul she was to Send, puncturing her guard and ruining any immunity she thought she had built up against it. Every time it came however, she forced it back, using her duty as both a distraction and motivation.

The same was so the following day, though the Sendings became fewer as aid began to arrive. There were even a few occasions when she had the time to interrupt one of the officials checking for identification to question them.

“I’m sorry,” she had said to one of them, bowing some, “but might you know the whereabouts of a man named Shuyin? The blitzball player?”

However, the official had curtly replied that he knew nothing of use to her before swiftly walking past. The reaction of the one that followed him was unfortunately the same, as was the third. By the time the blockades were lifted and she was able to return home, she was none the wiser about Shuyin’s location, condition, or if he was even alive.

These thoughts were her lullaby as she sat upon her bed, brushing the tangles from her hair to keep herself busy. By then, the exhaustion had gotten to her. Though she fought it for a while, her eyes itchy and her head bobbing lazily with the pull of her brush, she eventually gave in, sliding back onto the cool blankets and letting the brush fall from her hand.

That has how she was when she awoke rather abruptly the next morning. Blinking in the faint light that managed to pass through her curtained window, she sat up, groaning quietly. She could feel her nest of hair against her back and shoulders, and could only imagine what sort of mess it was. The rest of her body ached horribly from the strain that had been put upon it, and she could swear she had knots in her shoulders the size of blitzballs.

Glancing about for whatever had woken her and finding nothing, she sighed deeply and groped for her blanket, intent on crawling beneath it and letting sleep claim her for another hour or so. However, just as she was turning away from the window and lying down, the sound of a sharp knock—probably the sibling of that which had roused her—reached her ears. Almost immediately, it was followed by an unmistakable voice calling her name.

Her eyes shooting open, Lenne all but threw herself from the bed and bolted from the room. Hitting the front door at a run, she turned the handle and flung the door aside, looking out into the hall with a sort of fearful anticipation.

And there he was, blistered and bruised and more than a little panicked, but nonetheless alive. He was turned away from her, his hands at his temples in a gesture that implied terror beginning to set in. Apparently, after two knocks without a response, he had thought she wasn’t there. In the next instant, before he could even fully turn around, she quickly pulled him into a hug, relief threatening to collapse her knees.

“You’re okay,” he said a bit needlessly, lost for words as he returned her embrace.

“You too,” Lenne replied with relief, pulling back to get a better look at him. Besides the aforementioned blisters and bruises, he appeared to be in fairly good shape. Given the circumstances and the various other outcomes she had envisioned, she really couldn’t ask for more.

“I thought you’d gotten hurt,” he said, his strained voice suggesting that whatever he had thought, it was probably worse than that. After scanning her for injuries just as she had done to him, the two became quiet, unsure of what to say. Then, quietly, Shuyin asked, “Lenne, what happened?”

“Well,” she replied, lacing her fingers together and stepping back into the apartment. “It’s a long story, and I want to hear your part of it too. We probably don’t want to stand out here to tell the whole thing.”

\---

For the next half hour or so, they both occupied a comfortable spot of their choice—him the couch and her a stool from her counter—and recounted events to the best of their knowledge. Shocked and fearful looks were commonplace during both retellings, and more than once Lenne found herself looking Shuyin over again to see if she’d failed to spot a missing arm or something to that effect. During her recollection—more specifically the part about how her companions had helped her reach the stairs to the stage and escape—she received the same sort of look from him.

“So you got away with just this?” Shuyin asked as Lenne finished her portion of the tale. He gestured to her arm where it lay idly at her side, a scar running from her wrist to her elbow.

“Oh, yeah,” Lenne said, glancing at the scar herself. “I guess I didn’t get a potion to it quick enough.”

With the tale completely told, the two fell to contemplative silence, pondering again what the other had told them. Sounds of the outside wafted in from the now open window, and even then it was still unnaturally quiet. The riots that had dispersed in the night had apparently not returned with the coming of the sun.

“What’s going to happen now?” Shuyin said, leaning back, hanging his arms over the back of the couch, and looking up at the ceiling.

“Well,” Lenne stared, scratching her chin in thought, “Emperor Yevon should be making a statement about the incident sometime soon. He’ll probably announce his plan of action then.”

“Today?”

“I would think so. There’s too much unrest amongst the people for him to wait very long.”

“So now we just have to wait, right?”

“Right.”

Nodding, Shuyin glanced vaguely about the apartment, gaze moving slowly about the cluttered floor. As per usual, Lenne’s apartment was still rather messy; discarded clothes, paper, and other such objects littering the carpeted floor. Briefly, she remembered how embarrassed she had been when she had first invited him over for a visit. She’d been in the other room when the knock on the door had sounded, she remembered. Then, when she called that the door was open and walked into the room to greet him, she’d spotted him still standing outside, checking the number on the door to make sure he had the right apartment. Thankfully, he’d become accustomed to it by now, and only resorted to teasing her about his apartment being neater every once in a while.

She watched as he stretched his leg out, turning over a wrinkled shirt with the toe of his shoe and looking under it. “Do you have any cards?” he asked casually, looking up at her. “I could teach you to play Viliraj, if you want. It’ll pass the time.”

\---

For the next few hours, the two did their best to forget the troubles that had befallen them, surrendering to the sound of the cards as they rubbed together and clicked against the table. Though Shuyin had originally thought it would be interesting to bet a few insignificant bits and pieces to see how Lenne faired, he quickly regretted this decision when his sword, armguard, and both of his shoes sat at on the counter at Lenne’s elbow.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he commented forlornly as he stared at his hand of cards, which was no better than the twelve or so previous.

Lenne smiled sweetly in response, rearranging a few of her own cards. “Well, I sort of had an affinity for fortune spheres when I was young.”

“Hey, that isn’t fair!” Shuyin whined, pointing at her accusingly. Lenne couldn’t help but giggle at that, leaving him to drop his head down upon the table in resignation.

Suddenly, a strange crackling sound came in through the window, followed by a curious squeal. Immediately, Lenne’s laughter subsided and Shuyin lifted his head, both of their gazes locked on the window.

“White noise,” Lenne commented, letting her cards drop to the table and pushing her chair out. She reached the window with Shuyin right behind, the woes of losing his possessions gone for the time being.

The white noise continued for a few seconds more, then cleared away, replaced by the words, “Citizens of Zanarkand.”

“It’s the emperor!” Lenne said, placing her hands upon the windowsill and leaning forward some.

“Due to the events of two evenings past, our dear city’s involvement in the war with the martial city of Bevelle can no longer be denied. The borders of Zanarkand were breached with disturbing ease by six Bevellian emissaries, allowing them to devastate the B-East blitzball arena. In the process, they attempted to harm the hundreds of innocent civilians within, and unfortunately were met with appalling triumph. Even now, their plan is succeeding with each new death caused by this horrendous act.

“The Bevelle Empire has made a bold statement. They have not only brought harm upon the citizens of Zanarkand, but also the royal family, and our populace’s morale. Worse, it is not likely that this will be their only assault upon our city. Unfortunately, as it stands now, it would not be in Zanarkand’s best interests to take an offensive stance. Therefore, a new plan of security is being put into effect:

“All non-citizens or residents that have held citizenship for two years or less are to be deported immediately. The deadline for departure will be posted accordingly in the days to come. If anyone residing in Zanarkand after that date is found to have obtained citizenship less than three years previous, they will be taken into custody. 

“As of today, Zanarkand’s borders will be closed and all related transactions barred. No non-citizens may enter Zanarkand, and no citizens may depart without express written permission of the royal family. All shipments will be inspected thoroughly before they are allowed passage. This rule also applies to any mail that is to be received from or sent over the border.

“If any non-citizen makes persistent attempts to enter Zanarkand, and ignores warnings by the posted guards, they will be subject to immediate execution at the hands of the guards. Similarly, if a citizen makes persistent attempts to leave Zanarkand, the guards will make every effort to secure them and take them into custody. However, if this becomes impossible, the citizen in question will likewise be subjected to immediate execution.

“These measures have been put in place to protect Zanarkand until peace talks can be arranged with the Bevelle Empire. Until then, the cooperation of our citizens is vital to maintaining a safe and ordinary environment so that life may continue to function normally. Hold true, proud citizens of Zanarkand, and we will prosper. Now I, Emperor Yevon, bid you good evening.”

The white noise returned for a brief moment, and then nothing. The metropolis Zanarkand, home to millions of people, was silent.

Slowly, Shuyin and Lenne turned to face each other, each finding their own look of horror, shock, and disbelief mirrored on the other’s face. After a few seconds of this, her breath becoming raged and her eyes fearful, Lenne reached up, her hands tugging at her hair a fearful gesture. “Oh no,” she whispered, using the sill for support.

As Shuyin rested what he hoped was a comforting hand upon her shoulder, trying to think of something to say or do that wouldn’t reveal his own fear, sound began to once again drift in from outside. Though it started as a whisper, it slowly began to grow, until it became an ominous rumble, then an angry roar of nearly simultaneous protest.

The both of them knew then that it wouldn’t be long before the previous night’s riots began anew.


	8. Chapter 8

Lenne had felt certain that tonight was going to be a good night. Outside, the evening was pleasantly quiet (excluding the din that was ever-present, which she could easily ignore after having listened to it all her life). For what felt like the first time since Emperor Yevon’s announcement, things were relatively calm. She’d been looking forward to a comfortable night at home, and maybe trying to hunt down a few of the unfinished songs she knew were lying around somewhere.

Those plans, however, abruptly vanished when a knock came at her door. She opened it to find one of the clergy members standing there, looking somber and burdened. They exchanged a few quick greetings before the man handed her a sphere, bid her goodnight, and wandered down the hallway to the elevator. Confused and more than a little nervous, Lenne had slowly closed the door, sat down on her bed, and, taking a breath to steady herself, played the sphere.

Now, as the video within the sphere ended with a click and Lenne nearly dropped the tiny orb in disbelief, she understood why the man who delivered it had looked so forlorn. Slowly, she turned it over in her hand, watching as light from her lamp reflected off of its smooth, orange surface. Her eyes remained upon it, wide and unblinking, as if a new video might start up and declare that the one before it was some sort of horrible joke. This, unsurprisingly, never happened.

Slowly, she bent down, letting the sphere roll to the floor and deposit itself against a rumpled shirt. As an afterthought, she plucked a second shirt from the floor with her toe, using it to cover the distressing little orb.

Pushing her pillow to the side and scooting up against the wall, Lenne leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling and blinking rather rapidly. Her hands, meanwhile, gripped her unkempt sheets tightly, wringing them between her fingers in an attempt to release the trepidation that was eating away at her insides. Even alone, she refused to cry. Her summoner’s upbringing, it seemed, was a stronger influence on her than she realized.

After a few minutes of this inner battle, Lenne bent her head and took a raged breath. Then, after laying out across her bed and groping around for the light switch, she turned off the lamp, plunging herself into darkness.

For a time, she tried to force away the fears and doubts that plagued her mind, trying to call upon sleep so that she may forget, for a time, the message in the sphere and the heavy burden that it carried. However, after nearly an hour of tossing, turning, and being jolted from her light sleep by said terrors, she submitted to the fact that even sleep could not rid her of them. This was true for one fearful question in particular. One that, upon her eventual rise from bed, was still foremost in her mind as she stood under the steaming cascade of her shower.

“How am I going to tell Shuyin?” she asked; the only response she received was the coarse drumming of the water against the shower door.

\---

“What do they think we’re going to do?” Yasuo asked agitatedly, or at least his version of agitated. “Swim out of here?”

From where he was lazily treading water, Shuyin turned his head, following Yasuo’s gaze. There stood a guard, balancing on the nose of their ferryboat and trying to seem attentive, despite the dull job he’d been assigned.

“Probably,” Shuyin replied in tired resignation, letting himself slide underneath the chilly waters of the western sea. Blitzball practice had been exceedingly boring as of late, and this one was no different. This was most likely due to the players’ extreme lack of motivation, among other things. Even Nirui had lost most of her vigor, and she had resigned to merely giving her players dirty looks whenever she spotted them being lazy (though, given their almost constant display of sluggishness, the near-permanency of her scowl pretty much made up for the lack of shouting).

However, it would all be ending soon, he reminded himself. For nearly three weeks, Nirui had somehow managed to convince the proper officials to allow the Abes to go out to sea and practice, under the condition that they have a guard or two accompany them. Her latest few requests had been denied, however, and those in charge had made no indication of changing their minds. So, for all intents and purposes, this was their final practice.

Popping back up and shaking his head in a distinctly canine manner, Shuyin glanced about the surface of the water, searching for the captain. Briefly, he glimpsed the keeper Velne speaking rather animatedly with Paru, the second defender, and trying to wave Yasuo over to join them. Nearby, Kilea was idly trying to balance a blitzball on her nose, squealing rather humorously when one of the studs poked her in the eye. Finally, he spotted Nirui floating off near the guard hover, holding a blitzball and looking a mix of disgusted and resigned. “Hey!” Shuyin called, “Captain! How long is it gonna be ‘til you let us go?”

Slowly, Nirui turned her angry scowl toward him, her eye twitching rather impressively. She paused for a moment, taking her time as she lifted her blitzball into the air, and then gave it a good, hard smack. Quickly, Shuyin ducked to the right, the ball just barely grazing the side of his face as it shot by. He turned to watch its progress as it skipped across the water like a pebble, and then turned back to Nirui, waving affably. “Okay!” he called with a smile, which only succeeded in making the captain twitch more.

Lazily, he dove back underwater and paddled over to where the ball had come to rest several yards away. Just as he was scooping it up, a terrified screech rang out over the sound of the rolling waves.

Jerking his head in the direction of the shout’s source, Shuyin spotted Kilea, her head now barely a spot bobbing on the surface of the water. “Captain!” she was shrieking, nearly in hysterics, and pointing frantically toward the horizon. “Everyone! Look!”

Immediately, five pairs of eyes turned in the direction that the scrawny girl was indicating, and it took but a second for them to spot the source of the upset. Almost simultaneously, they all widened, their owners quickly sharing in Kilea’s distress.

“Get in the boat!” Nirui shrieked, before quickly diving below the water and bolting like a silverfish toward the guard vessel. Her team followed suit as rapidly as possible, anxiously glancing at the horizon whenever they surfaced for air. There, shooting across the water with frightening speed, were six cruisers, all of them moving with obvious aggression. The insignia of Bevelle reflected the afternoon sunlight, glaring at the players from where it was painted upon the cruisers’ sides.

By the time the team reached the safety of their hover and scrambled aboard, the guard was already laboring frantically with the controls, attempting to simultaneously get the boat moving and radio his superiors to sound the alarm.

“Go!” shouted Nirui, whacking the guard upside the head as if that would make him go faster. He scowled at her angrily, barking something about assaulting an officer before going back to his attempts to start the engine. However, given their current situation, Shuyin doubted that the captain really cared about being prosecuted. The enemy cruisers were closing in on them, and if the guard’s horrible driving earlier that morning was any indication, they would quickly be overtaken if the didn’t get moving.

Cursing under his breath, Shuyin shoved Yasuo to the side unceremoniously, pushing his way to the hover’s stern to watch the cruisers advance. Even though both his sword and combat blitzball were tucked away in a bag in the corner of the tiny vessel’s deck, they wouldn’t be of much use to him. The hover was far too small and crowded for him to attempt to use the blitzball, and by the time they were close enough for him to use the sword, it would be practically useless anyway. Unfortunately, that left him with only his badly aimed magic, and all things considered, it would probably be safer to grapple with a few dozen armed soldiers than use that.

Finally, just as the hair color of the first cruiser’s driver was beginning to become apparent, the hover’s engine sprang to life with a chug and whir. With six simultaneous shouts of “Go!” as a green light, the hover shot across the water, swerving with every nervous twitch of the guard’s hands.

For his part, Shuyin misjudged the potential force of the tiny vessel, and was nearly sent flying overboard. Luckily, he merely slammed against the inside of the stern with a shout and a curse. From there, he was immediately struck with a surge of water as it bounced off the hull and into the vessel, blinding him and making him sputter.

After a bit of sightless thrashing, he slowly struggled to his feet, using the boat’s side for support. Coughing, he glanced back at the Bevellian cruisers and saw that, thankfully, they were further behind than they had been a moment before. His gaze shifting, he caught sight of one of the long piers that jutted from the west side of the city, supported above the water by several gigantic columns. By now, he could see the ant-like shapes of the people along it, all of whom were fleeing the buildings with great haste. Though he couldn’t hear it over the sound of the engine’s strained whine, he could easily guess that the alarm had already begun blaring throughout the city. That had to be the case, if even the people inside the buildings were taking notice.

Swiftly, he whipped his head back and forth, looking between the cruisers and the pier, making a few quick estimations. He groaned loudly, though the sound was lost against the roaring of the engine. The cruisers were far too close, moving too fast, and he had never been one for luck (which his constant losses to Lenne at cards easily proved). Still, if he wanted to be of any use as Lenne’s guardian, he had very little choice in the matter. 

Shielding his eyes against the spray that was continuously being thrown back by the engine, he scanned the pier, looking for some means of getting onto it from the water. After a few moments of searching, he spotted the outline of a thin safety ladder protruding from the water, one end attached to the pier above.

Whirling about and all but diving onto the deck, Shuyin jerked his bag out of a puddle at the stern and ripped it open, quickly extracting his sword and combat blitzball. Sliding the scabbard through his belt loop and praying that it wouldn’t snap, he jumped up onto the side of the boat, clinging to the slippery metal as best he could.

“What are you doing?” Yasuo shouted, having noticed Shuyin’s foolhardy actions a little earlier than the blonde would have liked. He had hoped for at least a moment of concentration before the others began to take notice.

Ignoring the inconvenience that Yasuo presented for a moment and narrowing his eyes against the flying foam, Shuyin turned his gaze from the pier to the enemy cruisers, then back again. Based on the way they were directed, he was almost certain that they would be attacking the pier. The hover he was on, on the other hand, would most definitely veer to the right soon, toward the dock from which it had come. After all, if the guard did try to get the blitzers to the pier, they would be overrun before they could get far, and Shuyin doubted that the soldiers would leave them be just because they were civilians. Bevelle had already proven that it was all too willing to take out as many as it saw fit to meet its ends.

“This thing’s heading back to the docks!” Shuyin finally called over his shoulder at Yasuo, the volume necessary to make himself audible hurting his throat. “But the summoners are going to be here!”

“Come back after we’ve landed!” Yasuo pleaded feverishly. “You’re not even that good of a blitzball player! How are you going to out swim things with _engines_?”

Deciding to pay Yasuo back for that comment at a more convenient time, Shuyin kept his eyes trained on the safety ladder. By now, the hover’s other passengers were beginning to squawk at him as well, saying the same sort of things that Yasuo had already tried. A hand wrapped around his wrist at one point, and he guessed it was Nirui’s by the rigidity of the grip. However, suddenly, the guard began to rapidly spin the wheel, turning the hover sharply away from the pier and the path of the cruisers. His stomach twisting violently, Shuyin quickly approximated the distance from their current position to the ladder, and, unfortunately, it looked too far for him to manage in time. However, as he had convinced himself earlier, he really had no other option.

Ripping his wrist free of the hand that clenched it, he shot off of the hover’s side, diving headfirst into the frigid bay. He took only a moment to get his bearings before he went darting through the water, the seemingly impossible distance ahead of him all that was on his mind. He could hear the cruisers’ engines humming angrily not far off, though he tired his best not to focus on them. After a few moments, he reluctantly shot to the surface, sucking in a lung-full of air and checking his position. After gauging the remaining distance and chancing a glance over his shoulder for anxiety’s sake, he dove back under, working his muscles to their maximum capacity.

Still, it wasn’t enough to outrun the first cruiser. It shot by a few yards behind him with staggering speed, the force of the engine and the water displacement sending him pitching headlong through the water and froth. Terror sliced through him so viciously that, for a moment, he was sure that he’d been cut through by one of the engine’s blades. Even after that notion was speedily thrown aside, he was sure that he was about to be sucked into the cruiser’s engine, or promptly run over by one of the other cruisers. Sufficiently disoriented, he scrambled madly, reaching out for something to hold onto for support and simultaneously trying to regain his orientation. Fortunately, his arms quickly surfaced into the warm inlet air, the rest of his upper half quickly following with a gasp and a cough.

Forcefully wiping water from his eyes, he saw with an overwhelming sense of relief that the ladder was nearly within arm’s reach of him. Immediately (and not particularly gracefully), he threw himself forward, splashing about clumsily until his hands clamped around one of the corroded rungs. Just then, the second and third cruisers shot by, threatening to tear him clean away from ladder and send him reeling through the water again. However, he held tight to the tread, the rust that grew there biting at his fingers as if it were in league with the cruisers.

Then, when the water had calmed sufficiently and he no longer had to fear being dragged back into the bay, Shuyin swiftly clambered up the ladder before the fourth, fifth, and sixth cruisers could arrive. All but throwing himself over the guardrail and into the deserted vicinity of the pier, he wasted no time righting himself, and instead immediately turned and barreled down the avenue. Already, he could see the pyreflies gathering to form Aeons, and could hear the blasts of various spells being unleashed on the cruisers below.

\---

Though by all appearances the current clash was just like all of those that had come before it, there was a subtle uniqueness to it that Shuyin couldn’t help but notice. The summoners were being more heavily guarded than normal, pushed back against the opposite guardrail and almost hidden from view by their guardians (making it nearly impossible for the summoners to command their Aeons). The guardians, meanwhile, were even more ferocious than usual, using every measure possible to keep themselves between the summoners and the soldiers.

Though Shuyin found the whole thing a little weird, he was more than willing to conform when Lenne showed up. She arrived only a few minutes after the battle began, bumping into him as she clumsily skidded to a halt. She was already winded, and Shuyin could only guess how far she’d had to run in order to get here. A few months before, he would have wondered if she wouldn’t need to rest before summoning. Now however, he wasn’t at all surprised when she immediately stepped forward, stony-faced and daunting, and called forth the hissing serpent that was the water elemental Aeon. As it tumbled from the pier and quickly got to work capsizing one of the cruisers, Lenne followed the example of her fellow summoners and moved back against the guardrail; Shuyin quickly stepped in front of her.

After roughly a half hour of crackling spells, earsplitting battle cries from the Aeons, and bullets digging into every vulnerable surface (or pinging dangerously off those that weren’t), the Bevellian soldiers finally withdrew. After a moment of spinning in place, the cruisers shot off toward the horizon from whence they came. However, only five of the original six cruisers participated in the retreat. The other remained, broken, smoldering, and unmanned, but still afloat. This is where Shuyin focused his gaze as he leaned heavily upon the guardrail, the trials of the past hour finally catching up to him. Every part of him felt as if it had been molded from flan-jelly, and might fall off if he so much as twitched.

“What do they do with those things anyway?” he asked as Lenne came up to stand beside him. “I mean, we don’t do anything with them, but they’re always gone the next day.”

“I’m not sure,” she answered, glancing at the craft herself. “But I’ve heard that the parts are donated to a place downtown after they’re inspected for anything that might be of interest.”

Shuyin could only respond with a tired, “Hmm,” before they were interrupted by the sound of someone calling Lenne’s name. The two turned to find one of the other summoners—who appeared to be about twice their age—approaching them.

“Lady Lenne,” the woman said carefully, looking a bit troubled. “Could I speak with you for a moment? The clergy and most of the other summoners have already left, and I didn’t have time to ask any of them about the order from the emperor . . .”

“Y-yes,” Lenne replied hastily, holding up her hands to quiet the woman. Out of the corner of his eye, Shuyin saw her glance at him quickly before turning away, lowering her hands again. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said to Shuyin, trying to sound calm. However, the effect was destroyed when wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He watched them curiously as they moved off to the side, stopping in the doorway of a nearby building. Before either began to speak, Lenne glanced in Shuyin’s direction, and he quickly turned away, looking down at the water made murky by the agitation.

He kept his gaze there for a moment, watching the mud swirl about as his mind began to do the same at break-neck speed. There had been some kind of announcement? One that had involved the entire organization? He hadn’t heard anything of note lately, though by the look in Lenne’s eyes when she had walked away, that had probably been intentional.

Slowly, his curiosity got the better of him, and he chanced another glance at the two out of the corner of his eye. At some point, the older summoner had produced a small orange sphere from somewhere, and she now held it loosely at her side. The look on her face was slowly turning from the anxious and somber one that she had arrived with, to one of discouragement and near grief. To Shuyin’s increased worry, Lenne was obviously putting quite a bit of effort into keeping her features from doing the same, though they weren’t exactly obeying her readily. As she lay a gentle hand upon the other summoner’s arm, stroking it kindheartedly in an attempt to console her, Lenne’s face twisted into a smile that even the dimmest of complete strangers would have been able to seen through.

Then, lifting her head slightly, the other summoner said something that made Lenne raise her own eyes, glancing over the other’s shoulder at Shuyin again. Once more, the blonde swiftly turned his eyes down and away, staring at a bit of concrete that had been burnt black by a misaimed fira spell. He didn’t chance another look over his shoulder. Whatever was going on, it wouldn’t become any clearer by watching those two talk.

Fortunately, he wasn’t left to his own devices for long. As he was watching a group of men haul the destroyed hover to the shore with their own chugging mess of a vessel, the rail that he was leaning against creaked and shuddered. Turning, he found Lenne leaning heavily upon it, eyes trailing after the hover much the same way his had been.

“Lenne?” he said carefully, noting that the false contentment was slowly starting to fade from her features.

“Yes?” she said quietly, clearly already knowing what he wanted to ask.

“Lenne, what’s going on?” he asked softly quietly. “What’s wrong? Is there something I should know?”

Slowly, she tilted her head to the side, met his eyes, and then promptly turned away again. She looked incredibly spent, he realized, more so than she usually did after a battle. She hung limp and weary on the guardrail, like a rag-doll tossed to the wayside by a forgetful child. “Please don’t make me tell you right now,” she said weakly, running her fingers absently over the rail. Though he could see little of her eyes due to the angle he was at, from what he could tell, they seemed very vacant and lost. “I just . . . I need little time. I’m still trying to get my own head around it.”

“Is it that bad?”

She bobbed head a bit in affirmation. “I’m afraid so,” she answered. Then, she shut her eyes, laid her head against her arms, and nestled into the crook of her elbow with a sigh.

“Hey,” Shuyin said carefully, lightly resting a friendly hand on her arm. “Do you think you should head home?”

A small, tired, halfhearted smile spread across her lips for a moment before she tilted her head away, obscuring her face with her mane of hair. “No . . .no. I’m fine. I just need a few minutes.” She grew quiet and still then, an occasional fatigued groan the closest she came to coherent speech.

After roughly ten minutes of this near-silence, Shuyin began to glance in her direction a bit more often, ready to catch her the instant she began to slip from the rail. The rest of his time was spent staring at the water, watching the mud settle out and the normal cerulean hue return.

As could be expected, he didn’t think of much besides the strange announcement that had left both Lenne and her comrades—all of whom lived with a constant façade of ease—so visibly rattled. Obviously, it wasn’t something that could be taken lightly. Maybe they’d learned something new about Bevelle? But then, even after the disaster at the stadium had occurred, all the members of the organization had been relatively calm and professional when they had next met. The thought that something worse than that could be just on the horizon made a sickly sort of cold run through him, as if his blood was freezing in his veins.

“Hey,” Lenne muttered from beside him, bringing his attention back to her as she groggily pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I think I probably _will_ head home.” Momentarily, she glanced over the guardrail. “I don’t trust myself not to go to sleep and end up falling.”

“You wouldn’t,” Shuyin remarked, carefully hiding the fact that he had feared that for a while himself. “Besides, even if you did, you’d have me here to fish you out.”

Lenne giggled, despite her drowsiness. “It’s nice to know that, but I still think I’ll go home. Sleeping there would probably be more comfortable.”

“Do you want me to walk you?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll be fine.” Standing up and stretching her arms out, she smiled kindly at him, brushing a hand gently against his shoulder as she walked past. “Bye,” she said with a wave, her fingers curled toward her palm as if they too were too exhausted to stand properly.

“Can I stop by later?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice nonchalant. However, when he saw her smile falter just slightly and her eyes turn down to dart across the pavement, he knew he had failed in doing so. Though in the next moment her smile had returned, and she nodded her agreement before turning away, he could tell that she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about.

He watched her for a moment as she made her way around one of the buildings on the pier, apologizing profusely when she accidentally bumped into a person returning to the area. Then, as she disappeared behind one of the buildings, he turned away, staring absently out toward the watery horizon. Given the state she was in, Lenne would probably be out cold for at least a few hours. Any time before sunset would most likely be too early for him to show up, and even that was pushing it a bit.

Tilting his head and inattentively listening to the hushed conversation of those returning to the pier like so many animals to a grazing area, he mentally leafed through his options. He could just go home and wait there, though that would all but guarantee a decent stretch of anxiety and mental torment at his own hands. He could also try to meander about for a few hours to take his mind off things, though he somehow doubted that would be particularly effective, given how annoyingly steadfast his focus was. His best option, he supposed, would be to try and find someone else to talk with, since that would be the most distracting thing he could currently do.

Sighing, he stood up straight and rested his hands against the back of his head, then turned and headed down the boulevard that would take him to Zanarkand’s interior. Going to see Yasuo was probably his best bet, if the man was even home. Each had a bit of rage to take out on the other, and that would probably keep his mind busy and off the dreaded topic at hand—at least for a while.

\---

By the time Shuyin finally knocked on Lenne’s door several hours later, the sun had long disappeared beyond the calm sea, the stars above shining a cold light that, as always, fell far short of the brightness of the artificial city lights. The wind was sharp that evening, whistling amongst metal and glass, and biting ruthlessly into anyone unlucky enough to be in its way. Unfortunately, the hallway of Lenne’s building wasn’t much better, and Shuyin and had to work to keep his teeth from chattering as he waited to be admitted.

“Come in,” Lenne’s muffled voice called from within the apartment a moment later. All too happy to get out of the frigid hallway, Shuyin quickly complied, slipping through the door and shutting it hastily as to keep the comfortable heat of the apartment in.

He crossed the length of entryway in a few quick strides and glanced around the corner, quickly spotting Lenne a few feet away. She was comfortably splayed out across her bed, her thick comforter covering all but her face and arms. Her eyes skimmed one of several papers covering the mattress before her or, having slid from there, laying unceremoniously on the floor amongst forgotten sheets. She held a pen loosely in one hand, scribbling on the papers here and there.

“Whatcha up to?” Shuyin said, walking over and glancing at the papers. Musical notes and words cluttered them, in some places sharing space with large black scribbles. Some new notes were scrawled into the margins or in between lines, occasionally accompanied by nearly illegible text.

Glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at the paper before her, she said, “Just some songs. I never got a free minute to finish them until now.”

“For your next concert?” he asked, scooping a few up off the floor and skimming them.

“Maybe,” she answered, expertly plucking them from his hands, a small smile playing across her lips at his look of mock-disappointment. “If any of them end up being good when they’re finished.” Pulling all the papers on the mattress together and stretching over the edge of the bed to reach the others, she shuffled them into a messy stack, each page poking out at an angle that didn’t quite match the others.

Though she tried to make it seem as if she were merely taking care to arrange them correctly, Shuyin could tell that she was intentionally biding her time. The burden of the mysterious, terrible secret weighed heavily between them, trepidation clawing away at his ribcage as if some sort of horrible creature within was struggling to escape. From the way she moved about—slowly, resignedly, as though she were trying to avoid something but knew she could not—he could only guess that she was feeling the same thing.

Slowly, he looked away from her, letting his eyes flick about the room as if one of the many objects cluttering the floor might be able to diffuse the tension that was threatening to asphyxiate him. Alas, he found nothing there, though he was occupied for a moment or two when he spotted her songstress dress hung up near the door. It had replaced her robes not long ago as the garment she most often wore in public, hence making her easier to recognize. It had been by the suggestion of one of the clergy members, he remembered. She had pointedly remarked that, because of the songstress’s popularity, her being more overt might help too boost the people’s morale. Lenne wasn’t particularly happy with the extra exposure though, which Shuyin realized after a few painfully busy outings with her. Merely walking from one part of the city to another was a bit of a challenge, since numerous enthusiastic individuals were regularly accosting her. However, she continued to wear it regardless, saying that the initial excitement would die down soon enough and that it was, after all, helping to improve morale.

Shuyin’s moment of welcome forgetfulness was interrupted, however, as Lenne threw the comforter aside and slid from her mattress, her bare feet clapping against the floor as she moved. After taking her time in neatly setting the papers beside a couple of impulsively strewn books, she turned back toward him, the look on her face fully illustrating her reluctance to speak.

“This is . . .” she started, wringing her hands nervously. “This is really . . . hard.” Slowly, she walked back over to her bed, plopping down at the foot of it and motioning for him to do the same.

“What’s so hard?” he asked, trying his best to seem calm and collected as he pushed aside the comforter and took a seat. He couldn’t quite get the mild trembling out of his voice however, so he settled for hoping that she wouldn’t notice.

Lenne paused, watching her fingers absently as they danced about atop her knees. For a moment, Shuyin wondered if she was just going to remain that way: stagnant and silent, refusing to confide in him the information that troubled her so.

“Lenne,” Shuyin nearly pleaded, leaning forward to better meet her downcast eyes. Seemingly of its own free will, one of his hands moved to touch her forearm, squeezing it encouragingly. “Lenne, you can—”

“Shuyin,” she interrupted, taking a deep breath to gather her resolve. “Those Bevellian spies that were captured after the stadium was bombed have been under interrogation for several weeks now, and they’ve . . . started to talk. They’ve disclosed a few things.” Slowly, Shuyin straightened himself out, conceding the sight of her eyes so that she might be more at ease. His hand, however, remained encouragingly upon her arm. “We—Zanarkand I mean—after the attack, Emperor Yevon didn’t have many options to keep us safe,” she continued, speaking quickly, as if faltering for even a moment would force her resolve to drain away like wine from a shattered bottle. “Bevelle had us in a corner. If Zanarkand’s borders weren’t shut down, more spies and operatives would be able to sneak into the city and maybe cause as much damage as before, or worse. Though, now that they _have_ been shut down, we’re having just as many problems.

“Shuyin, Zanarkand’s weakening. Morale is horribly low right now, and there are a lot of people in this city who would gladly betray the emperor in order to escape. We’re getting desperate for imports, too. None of the other cities want to ship any of their exports to us, because that might make it appear as if they’ve allied with us, and Bevelle might go after them. A few cities are shipping things to us in secret, but Bevelle takes out any cargo ships headed too far north to be going anywhere else. The ships that are still being sent over have to be escorted by a defense convoy of ours. It’s stretching our defense units thin, and making us vulnerable. We . . . there was no good option for us. We’d have ended up playing into Bevelle’s hands no matter what Emperor Yevon decided. Either way, Bevelle would still be able to do exactly what it wants to: cripple us.

“Even the attacks against the summoners were part of weakening our defenses. Really, the soldiers in those cruisers had never intended to get access to the city. Of course, they would have if the opportunity had been there, but that wasn’t their real purpose. Bevelle found out early on that we summoners are Zanarkand’s best defense against foreign assaults. So, they decided that they could deal a huge blow to Zanarkand’s defenses if they got rid of us.”

A pang went through Shuyin’s stomach, his insides feeling as if they were wringing themselves into an unbearably tight knot. All those attacks, all those times that they could have been killed, and that was what the enemy had wanted the entire time. The mere thought of it made him sick, and reflecting upon what could have resulted from all those near misses made it even worse. Suddenly, he had the strange compulsion to embrace her out of the mix of relief and dread that was building up in his chest, but he wisely decided against it. Instead, he remained where he was, leaning forward a bit as she proceeded with her narration.

“It . . . gets worse than that, though,” she continued, wringing a corner of the comforter between her fingers. “Weakening us isn’t their whole plan. It’s just necessary for the second half.

“In a few months, Bevelle is planning to attack us head on. They’re going to try and bring their most powerful machina over Gagazet and fight us here. If that happens, when we’re as weak as we are now . . .” She faltered some then, gulping back her next few words as if speaking them would sear her tongue. However, her pause was just as effective at conveying the information to him as any words would have been.

“We won’t have a chance,” Shuyin finished absently, forgetting for a moment that he was trying to remain silent to make the account simpler for her to tell. Her head bobbed a bit in confirmation.

“Yes,” she responded, lifting her eyes and looking at him for the first time since she had begun. Then, she promptly looked away once again, this time her gaze running inattentively over the ceiling. “And we can’t let that happen. We can’t let Bevelle’s forces reach Zanarkand. That’s why Emperor Yevon . . . that’s why the summoners are being sent out of the city to meet them.”

“What?” Shuyin cried in alarm, a moment later scolding himself for his accidental harshness.

Lenne however, was not nearly as disturbed by this reaction as he had thought she would be. In fact, she remained just as she had been a moment before, as if she had already known that his response would be something similar to that.

“Those of us that are close to obtaining all of the aeons will be finishing our training in the next few months. Then, we’ll join up with the other summoners that have completed their training, and leave the city under order of Emperor Yevon. We’re going to try and make it down Gagazet as quickly as possible, so we won’t have to fight Bevelle’s forces under its harsh conditions. The rest of the summoners will stay here, and continue their training. They’ll serve as extra protection, so if any machina break through our line of defense, there will be a second line ready to stop them.” She said all this with an overwhelmingly mechanical tone, as if she were providing a stranger with directions to another district.

After that, the silence between them was so absolute that, if Shuyin had been paying attention, he probably could have the sound of the elevator bell pinging at the other end of the building. However, he was far too busy staring at Lenne with the sort of glazed, lost look that could only accompany the most acute kind of disbelief.

And still, there was one last question to be answered. One that, due to the information that preceded it, he could hardly muster up enough determination to ask.

“Why didn’t I know, Lenne?” he asked quietly, gazing at her with fearful, nearly beseeching eyes. “I’m your guardian. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

This, it seemed, was the part of the conversation that Lenne had been dreading the most. She returned his gaze with one that held the same sort of fear and foreboding, her hands twisting about the fabric of her bedspread until it began to creak with the strain of her grip. Gulping, she got to her feet, slowly padding across the room to where her songstress’s outfit hung. Shuyin watched as she sifted amongst the material there, time seemingly slowing to taunt him.

“Shuyin,” she murmured helplessly, turning and walking back toward him. In her hand was a small blue pamphlet, no larger than her hand and no thicker than a coin. She took her seat once again, handing it to him. Slowly, he took it (with the air of a man being forced to pick up some sort of poisonous insect), and opened it, leafing through its pages. Her picture was contained within, as well as an assortment of personal information, among other things.

“This is my passport. All of the summoners have been given one. If someone wants to leave Zanarkand, having one of these is the only way they can,” she explained quietly, fingers flicking over his as she guided him to the first page. It was completely empty but for a thin black line. “Emperor Yevon has to sign them himself in order for anyone to leave Zanarkand,” she said, tapping the paper above the line to indicate where the signature would go. “We summoners are departing by his orders, so he’s willing to sign ours. But, if he believes it’s best to deny release to someone, they won’t be allowed to leave.”

Delicately, she took the passport from him, running her thumb across the cover. He stared at her, his eyes wide as he slowly began to grasp the subtleties behind her strange tangent. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought she was, he tried to tell himself. The mere concept was too absurd and hazardous for words, and it certainly wouldn’t have been given as an official order. It was ridiculous, he convinced himself, as Lenne turned poignant eyes up to meet his. It couldn’t possibly be what he thought it was. It was just his mind jumping to conclusions, playing tricks . . .

Gently, she rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Shuyin,” she started warily, her fingers trembling in a fearfully foreboding manner. “Do you remember when you became a guardian? How simple it was, because Emperor Yevon doesn’t have authority over the guardians? Because he doesn’t recognize them?”

All he could hear after that was the faint sound of the world shattering.


	9. Chapter 9

“Don’t worry about me, all right?” Lenne said, a reassuring smile playing across her face. “I’ll be fine.”

Shuyin stared at her for a moment, his expression much different than hers. Desperation and hopelessness were obvious in his features, etched into his brow and clouding his eyes. Hopelessly, he glanced away from her, looking off to the side. All around them, the other summoners were saying their goodbyes, consoling weeping friends and family members and sharing a few last, despondent embraces. He hadn’t really bothered to notice earlier, but now he fully perceived how many people were amongst the crowd. The collective chatter, he now realized, was fed by so many voices that it was becoming loud enough to make his ears ring. However, no matter how hard he strained, he didn’t hear a single one of those voices speak without a tone of defeat, bleakness, or resignation. This was a gathering of the damned, he realized, and any minute now, they would rally together and depart along the sloping path to Gagazet with Lenne amongst their ranks.

“Lenne, don’t go with them,” Shuyin begged. His grip on her upper arms tightened as if, were he to let her go, she would be torn away from him and drift off into nothingness, like so much smoke in a raging wind. “You could do just as much good here! You could help the younger summoners with their training. Lead them, maybe. They’re inexperienced. They’ll need help from a superior, right?” Even before the words left his tongue, however, he knew that his efforts would be fruitless. He’d tried time and time again to convince her to stay, to find some way that she wouldn’t have to go with the other summoners to what could only be certain death. However, there wasn’t anything else that he was willing to say. Saying goodbye now would be like willingly throwing away his last, tiny shred of hope.

Gently, Lenne shook her arms from his hold, then tenderly snaked them around his waist and propped her forehead against his shoulder. “No,” she answered in a whisper as his arms encircled her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Shuyin.” Around them, the other summoners slowly began splitting from their lamenting relatives and heading up the path to the blockade, the loud chatter of before dying away as a result. However, Shuyin gradually started to notice that the ringing in his ears, though it had come with the chatter, did not leave with it. Narrowing his eyes a bit in confusion, he quickly realized that the ringing was even louder than it had been a few moments before, and was getting louder even as he paused to consider it.

As he shook his head to try and relieve himself of the noise, Lenne released him and pulled from his embrace, turning away as she did so. “Lenne! Wait!” he called out, covering his ears in another attempt to ease the ringing, which still continued to rise in volume. To his alarm, he could barely hear his own shouts over the shrieking buzz.

Lenne, it seemed, could not hear him either. Seemingly ignorant of his dilemma, she continued up the path, breaking into a jog to catch up to the other summoners who were already making their way through the blockade. She half-turned then, raising a hand to him and waving in farewell. “Goodbye, Shuyin!” she called, with a warm smile and sad eyes. By now however, the ringing in his ears was so bad that the movement of her lips was the only way he could tell that she had spoken at all. His eyes closing and jaw setting in a pitiful attempt to cope with the agony, he fell to his knees, clamping his hands even more tightly over his ears. The chime only continued to get louder however, to the point that Shuyin felt as if his head might split clean in half at any moment. It was then that he noticed a bizarre change happening in the sound. Slowly, it began mutating into something much different than the ring that it had been before: something different, and far more chilling.

It was screams, he realized, an icy chill shooting through his bones and seemingly freezing him to the ground; tormented, fearful screams that could only come with unbearable pain, or an agonizing death. Screams from a voice he knew.

Horrified realization surging through him like reverberations through struck steel, Shuyin forced his head up, desperately scanning the sloping path before him for Lenne. She was already at the crest when he spotted her, just passing the blockade and taking up the rear of the group. Frantically, he screamed her name, his voice loud enough this time to make raw his throat, as well as contend with the voice that was resonating through ever fiber of his mind.

She faltered, apparently having heard his cry this time, and quickly turned to acknowledge him. As she did, her body lost the steadiness that it had had only a moment before, giving way to near-spastic convulsions. For an instant their gazes met, and to his dread, Shuyin saw his fear mirrored in her eyes, alongside agony even more intense than his own. Then, a flare of red near her neck caught his eye, and instinctively, his gaze fell to it.

Blood. Torrents of it, running from her chest, down her front to drip onto the dust at her feet. At the source of the appalling scarlet streak, where her heart should have been, there was nothing. Instead, all he could see there was a bloody mess of tissue, and the gray of the rocks behind her.

All breath left him as her eyes rolled back, the brown irises disappearing into ghostly white, and her knees came out from beneath her, sending her to the gravel in a flurry of white and brown and red.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t see. Color, sound, texture, everything began to blend together nonsensically, reaching from once sense into the other until he could hear the blood and see the sound of gravel crunching beneath her lifeless body. Slowly, everything around him became like cracking glass, groaning with the effort of keeping itself from exploding into shards. He could see the same thing in himself, tiny lines running through his body and threatening to completely shatter him along with everything else. And still, ringing clear and true above it all were Lenne’s agonized screams. Shuyin was completely paralyzed. He could do nothing but join in the screaming.

And then, his head slammed against the floor with a thick, solid ‘thunk’. Disoriented and still struck with an overwhelming terror, he squirmed haphazardly, his eyes frantically darting about like those of a terrified animal. A moment later, he recognized the familiar situation of his apartment, and slowly sagged onto his shoulders with an aggravated groan. Slamming his fist weakly against the floor, he slid backward some, letting his legs drop from mattress on which they had been leaning, suspended over the rest of his body. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, holding the back of his head where it was beginning to become tender. He’d have a nasty bump there soon enough.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Shuyin dragged himself into the other room, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and, along with it, the memories of this latest appalling nightmare.

Contemptuously, he pondered what this one numbered. If he recalled correctly, this was the fifth such nightmare he’d had since Lenne had told him of the emperor’s orders two weeks previous. Though they varied greatly in setting and situation, they all ended in the same manner. Lenne would leave him, smiling as if everything was right with the world, and then she would die. The latter was where the majority if his creativity was focused, it seemed, since her death became more and more ghastly with the coming of each unspeakable hallucination.

The screaming was new though, he thought bitterly as he slapped a wet cloth across his face. Feebly, as if the nightmare had single-handedly drained away all the energy he had gained from sleeping, he leaned against the wall, holding the cloth over his forehead and closed eyes.

A small, wishful part of him wanted to try talking to her again. It might work this time, he mulled hazily as he wandered back over to his bed and threw himself upon it in exhaustion. Unfortunately, the greater part of him was much more pessimistic, and for a regrettably good reason. Twice now, he’d tried to convince her to ignore the orders; tried to convince her to stay alive.

“You can’t!” he remembered shouting after Lenne had first broken the news to him, the words echoing about inside his head now like a whisper through a microphone.

“I have to,” she had responded calmly, slowly dragging her toe across the floor in a minute figure eight. “I’m a summoner, Shuyin. It’s our responsibility to protect the people of Zanarkand.” Then, as an afterthought, she’d added, “Besides, the orders are direct from Emperor Yevon. We can’t very well refuse them.”

“Yes you can!” He’d responded, all but frantic by that point. “Lenne, this is insane. You can’t defend yourself and fight off Bevelle’s weapons at the same time! Anything people can do will be nothing against war machina!”

“I know,” she’d answered, her voice automatic and detached.

“This is . . .this isn’t right,” Shuyin had breathed, Lenne’s neutrality working upon him like cold water on hot iron. Slowly, his hysteria began to ebb away, replaced by a nearly overwhelming sense of horror and dread. It seemingly ate away at his voice as well, turning his tone from a frenzied shout to a murmur of fearful understanding. “This is crazy. It’s sui—it’s suici—.” He’d let the word die away in his throat then, as if speaking it would somehow give it merit. Instead, he’d let his forehead drop into his hand, stared at the floor, though not quite seeing it behind the fog of contemplation that blurred his vision.

Then, Lenne had gently brushed a hand against his shoulder, squeezing it carefully in an attempt to console him. It had had the same effect as something blunt and heavy slamming into his stomach. Even though it had been she who had just been given her own death notice, _she_ had still been comforting _him_. He remembered feeling almost physically sick then. His first nightmare, unfortunately, hadn’t been far behind. He’d woken in a cold sweat the next morning, hastily excusing himself from the apartment as quickly as possible and ignoring Lenne’s offered comfort.

It had been a few days before he’d felt sure enough to make another attempt at convincing her to change her mind, or at the very least come up with a safer alternative to her current plan. They’d been meandering idly about a beach in A-North (despite the fact that the overcast sky hardly presented them with the most optimal weather), chatting about things like standings at the end of the blitzball season, the eventual reconstruction of the stadium, the bizarre fans that she had encountered in the last few days, and other such things that seemed wholly insignificant. At least, they were now, with the burden of Lenne’s quickly approaching departure weighing so heavily upon him.

“Lenne . . .” he had started slowly, narrowing his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts into a string of words that at least seemed coherent. He’d paused in his stride, laying down on the sand and motioning for her to follow. “Why don’t you just . . .why not stay here?”

“Huh?” she had asked, taking a seat next to him.

“You said some other summoners are staying,” he’d reminded her, propping himself up on his elbows to make full use of his hands. He’d begun gesturing almost erratically, as if his nonsensical hand-motions might somehow help in convincing her. “You could stay with them, couldn’t you?” As an afterthought, with a finger snap he’d added, “Maybe one of them could take your place.”

By then, her expression had changed from the contented one that it had been to one of melancholy and burden. “I can’t ask them to do that,” she’d responded quietly, looking away from him and brushing a few grains of sand off of her skirt. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s not fair either way,” he’d whispered bitterly, glaring angrily out at the sea. “Then don’t ask anyone to take your place,” he’d urged, refusing to abandon that pursuit as quickly as he had the one before it. “You can just stay. You can ignore what Yevon says. It doesn’t matter what he wants, does it?”

“Ignore the emperor?” Slowly, Lenne had wrapped her arms about her bare legs, resting her chin on her knees. “Shuyin, he’s the head summoner,” she’d pointed out, as if the statement in and of itself explained everything. In a way, it did, but Shuyin had hardly seen it as a sufficient answer.

“Who cares?”

“We do,” she’d answered, her voice suddenly firmer than it had been before. Taken aback by her suddenly callous tone, Shuyin had remained silent, staring at her before awkwardly glancing down at the sand attempting to creep into his shoes. “Emperor Yevon just wants what’s best for Zanarkand,” Lenne had continued, her voice gentle once again and equally despondent. “He just wants to keep everyone safe, that’s all. He wouldn’t go to these lengths if it wasn’t necessary.”

“But Lenne, there has to be something,” Shuyin had said, letting his eyes dart about the sand as he scoured his mind for any such ‘something’. “Don’t we have . . . I don’t know . . . war machina of our own? Zanarkand has to have something!”

“Nothing that would stand a chance against Bevelle,” she’d answered with a shake of her head. “Compared to the war machina that they have, ours are about as intimidating as a bunch of old mops.”

“Of course,” Shuyin had muttered bitterly, throwing himself down in frustration. After glaring at the overcast sky for a bit, he’d flipped on his side, his back to Lenne, and turned his angry gaze toward the sand. For the minute or so that followed, his features had retained that same infuriated look, as if everything around him were somehow to blame for Lenne’s seemingly impossible situation. For a moment, he’d even dared to silently cast some fury Lenne’s way for refusing to choose her life over her duty. Why did she let herself be treated as a wartime commodity? Why couldn’t she see that she was more important than that?

Then, in the middle of his angry musings, a feather-light touch had run the length of his upper arm, lightly brushing over checkered fabric and tanned flesh. Trying to fight away the chill that consequently pricked across his skin, he’d turned toward Lenne, whose hand he found resting carefully upon his elbow. “I’m sorry you’re being put through this too,” she said. “I know that it’s unfair. We never asked for this. I . . . never thought something like this would happen.” He saw the sincerity and regret in her eyes then, floating about like so much disturbed sand in a murky sea.

No, he’d wanted to say to her, his aggravation still roiling about like a snake in the pit of his stomach. Stop being sorry for what other people do. Stop being sorry for me! Stop being such a saint! Forget duty! Stay with—!

But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d shaken such imaginings away, letting his frustration calm and morph instead into shame at training his anger upon her. Slowly, he’d sat up, distracting himself by brushing sand off his back and out of his hair. He’d felt her hand fall away then, moving away from him to join its partner upon her knees. He’d suddenly missed the comfortable weight of it, though he’d made no move to mention that.

The two had remained that way for a time, watching the waves inch closer and closer toward them as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, as the water had begun to come close enough to soak the toes of her boots, Lenne had gotten to her feet, stretching her arms above her head. “We should go,” she’d said, turning toward him. “It’s getting dark out.”

That was four days ago now, and he had yet to see her since. While he’d wanted to on quite a few occasions (now being one of them), he didn’t trust himself not to start another argument with her. Next to her actually leaving, that was the last thing he wanted to happen. He was upsetting her, he knew, both by starting arguments and subsequently avoiding her. Some guardian he was, hurting his summoner when he should be there to help her, he thought. Some friend, too.

Gritting his teeth and growling in frustration, Shuyin quickly got to his feet and, for lack of a better thing to do, swung out and punched the nearby wall as hard as he could. All the dejection, rage, hopelessness, and aggravation that had been enshrouding him for the past few days went into the blow, concentrating in his fist. Unfortunately, he overlooked the fact that the wall was made of metal, leaving him in a considerable amount of pain when he pulled his throbbing fist back.

He needed to get out of here, he realized. The room around him was nothing short of stifling, and even though the hottest hours of the day had already passed (he could already see the sun descending from his west-directed window) he didn’t trust himself not to make it worse, even with a lack of tangible heat. He had to do something to get his mind off of everything for a while, so that he might exorcise the frustrations and regrets that were threatening to crush him underfoot.

Sifting through the clothes that lay scattered across his floor, he indifferently chose a few that were balled up near the foot of his bed, throwing them on haphazardly. Running a hand through his hair as if doing so might fix its messy state, he slid into his shoes and headed out the door, slamming it behind him.

He’d go out and do something, he decided. Preferably, something that was incredibly tiring and could be done for hours at a time. All of a sudden, as he absently punched the elevator buttons, he found himself pining for Nirui’s strenuous blitzball practices. If she was in a bad mood, one of those could keep the entire team from thinking about anything but blitzball for the duration of it, and maybe for a few hours afterwards. Then again, he reasoned, blitzball practice was hardly the place to go when one wanted to be alone. Given his current agitation, he hardly felt like dealing with people. So, whatever it was that he was going to do, it had to be something that could be done alone. Unfortunately, he’d barely taken five steps outside his apartment complex when this condition was put at risk.

“Hey, Shuyin! So, you finally decided to come out.”

“Oh for the love of . . .” Shuyin started before he was promptly slapped on the back by the annoyingly jovial Yasuo.

“You’ve got some pretty impressive timing,” Yasuo commented, resting his elbow on Shuyin’s shoulder (and simultaneously lessening the blonde’s patience with him). “I was just about to come up there and drag you out. Three days is _way_ too long to lock yourself up. It’s not healthy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shuyin hissed, sidestepping out from underneath the other man’s elbow and nearly making him lose his balance. “Bye then.” With a curt wave, Shuyin turned and quickly made for the thickest part of the crowd, hoping that disappearing into it would be enough to save him from the other man’s clutches. However, when a familiar, dark-skinned arm reached out and clotheslined him, he submitted to that fact that escape was unlikely.

“Hey, I went to the trouble of coming here to see you,” Yasuo said amiably, walking around to stand before Shuyin. “Running off would be just plain rude.”

“I can deal with that,” growled Shuyin.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yasuo said, the thinly veiled amusement in his voice wearing quickly away at Shuyin’s nerves. “It’s one of those kind of days, huh?”

“Sure,” said Shuyin with a resigned shrug. “Why not?” Then, seeing the smug look on Yasuo face, he sighed in frustration. “Look, whatever you meant by _that_ , I don’t care right now. I just want to be alone. Okay?”

“Alone, huh?” replied Yasuo, carefully stepping in front of the other man to prevent another escape attempt. “I’ll come with you. Keep you company.”

An irritated growl, another attempt at flight. “I don’t think so. Thanks.”

Another denial. “Oh, come on. I won’t be a problem. I’ll be just like a fly on the wall.”

“More like a Behemoth.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Just go away.”

“Why Shuyin, I’m hurt.”

“Good for you.”

“Come on, you _know_ you want me to come.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No, I really, really don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I—”

“Yes.”

“N—”

“ _Uh huh_.”

“ _No, I_ —”

“Yes you—”

“Augh! Fine!” Shuyin yelled, throwing his arms up in defeat and drawing the stares of a few casual bystanders. “Why not? You’ll just follow me anyway. Not much of a point in this.”

“You know me too well,” Yasuo responded, smiling at his victory over his stubborn teammate. “Lead the way, then.”

As Shuyin began walking down the street, filtering into the crowd with Yasuo chattering loudly at his side, he couldn’t help but think that if he’d just left a little bit earlier, he could have avoided this entirely.

\---

“I don’t want any,” Shuyin said plainly, his forehead never leaving the glass tabletop on which it lay. He kept his eyes trained upon the outline of his shoe, the image grainy through the glass and shadowed by the table’s base. While it was hardly an entertaining endeavor, it was better than acknowledging the clear bottle that was being repeatedly pressed against the top of his head.

“Oh come on,” Yasuo prodded, grabbing the neck of the bottle and pushing it against his companion’s knuckles, trying to force it into his hand.

“You know I think that stuff’s disgusting,” the blonde replied in a low voice, gruffly forcing the bottle away and glancing off toward the other end of the room (though he could hardly see the opposite wall due to the room’s horrible lighting). Really, a club like this one, where the smell of sweat and booze was next to overpowering, was the last place Shuyin wanted to spend his evening. Though normally he would revel in such company (his moderate popularity as a blitzball player making such almost mandatory), he was hardly in the mood for it. As a result, he regarded the whole place as merely far too noisy, and far too crowded. Case in point, the amount of times he’d been recklessly bumped into was beginning to reach into the double digits, though he had yet to move more than three feet from his chair. As could be expected, it did nothing to improve his disposition.

“Oh come on,” Yasuo mock begged, taking a swig from his own bottle and wiping his mouth off on his wrist. “If I don’t get you insanely drunk, how am I going to get you to spill all your juicy secrets? Do you even care about _my_ feelings?”

Immediately, Shuyin tensed, his fingernails scraping at the table angrily as his hand slowly curled into a fist, then flattened back out. Though he could clearly make out the sarcasm in Yasuo’s voice, he hardly had the patience to deal with it. “Oh, I’m _sorry_. You want to know my secrets, do you?” he muttered, lifting his head and glaring up at the other man. “I bet you want to know why I’m not being ‘ _sociable’_ too. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Mind your own business,” Shuyin spat back, turning away and angrily glaring at the wall behind him as if it were an accomplice in Yasuo’s little interrogation plan.

Despite Shuyin’s biting remarks, Yasuo remained infuriatingly calm. This was probably due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, Shuyin reasoned. Just enough for a good buzz. Taking his time, Yasuo gulped down the rest of his drink, and then, after eying Shuyin’s still full bottle for a moment, reached across the table and swiped it. “Girl trouble, isn’t it?”

“No,” Shuyin responded as neutrally as possible. This was easier said than done however, which was clear in how tightly he gripped the side of the table.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yasuo replied in a singsong voice, making the thought of reaching out and strangling him an appealing one. However, before Shuyin could follow through, Yasuo’s next comment froze him where he sat. “It’s about Lenne, isn’t it?”

Once again, Shuyin’s body tensed up. “What are you talking about? The songstress? I’ve told you before, I don’t even know her.”

“Oh please, Shuyin. You can’t fool me for that long,” Yasuo continued, almost smugly. “I’m as smart as your average dog; I can recognize patterns.” Leisurely, he raised a few fingers, counting them off in an agonizingly composed manner. “The girl in the white robe that would never show her face? You leaving with her after every game? You looking for Lenne after the stadium was attacked? You spending all your time for nearly four months training to be a guardian? As much as it may shock you, I’m not stupid, and you’re not very good at hiding things.” Yasuo paused for a moment and swirled the liquid in his newly acquired bottle, apparently trying to give that information enough time to sink in. “Now it’s just the matter of what exactly the problem is. You’re afraid she’s cheating on you maybe? Problems in the relationship?”

“Yasuo,” Shuyin hissed, his shoulder visibly shaking as the other man’s words carved away at his last nerve, “ _shut up_.”

“No? Well, maybe it isn’t anything like that.” The legs of Yasuo’s chair squeaked as he moved forward a bit, and Shuyin could feel the man’s steady gaze against the side of his head. “Maybe . . . you’re worried about her for some reason?” And the nerve snapped.

“Fuck you!” Shuyin screamed, whirling around and jumping to his feet. The frightening air about him was lost however, when his feet caught the legs of the chair and he was sent to the floor with cringe-worthy slam. A few seconds later, he was up again, ego sufficiently bruised and eyes narrowed furiously at Yasuo.

The two remained that way for a bit, Shuyin looking all too ready to come over the table at Yasuo, while Yasuo managed to keep what was, for the most part, a calm expression. “Guess I hit a nerve,” Yasuo finally said, seemingly unthreatened, before taking another drink. Realizing that he played right into the man's hands, Shuyin sighed exhaustedly before righting his chair and all but falling into it.

“You know, you could always confide in me,” Yasuo commented. “That’s what friends are for.”

Slowly and quietly enough so that the quivering of his shoulders was the first hint of it, Shuyin started to laugh, though it was not a laugh of any genuine mirth. Instead, it was the laugh of a man that only found humor in how horrible his situation was. “Sure. Fine. Why not? It’s not like talking will make it any worse.”

\---

By the time Shuyin had finished his tale—which was constantly being interrupted by Yasuo’s drunken and ‘witty’ commentary—the two had already left the bar and moved on to Yasuo’s flat. Shuyin had snagged the couch almost immediately after their arrival, and was currently laying face down in the cushions to block out the apartment’s dim light. Though the smell that was seemingly weaved into the fibers should have been enough to drive him to the other side of the room, he was too drained to pay it much mind. Yasuo meanwhile, his spot on the couch selfishly taken up by Shuyin’s legs, sat on the floor instead, leaning against the body of the furnishing. Now and then, his head would bob about gracelessly, illustrating both his fatigue and his tipsiness (the leniency of the second condition was a miracle in Shuyin’ eyes, since Yasuo had drunk enough alcohol in the last hour to down a Gigas).

“And the rest is history, right?” Yasuo slurred after a few moments of quiet.

“Sure,” Shuyin answered flatly before growing silent once more. Recalling the entire hopeless situation to Yasuo had left his mouth and disposition unpleasantly sour, and he currently couldn’t muster the will to say much else.

“So,” Yasuo continued, despite Shuyin’s rather obvious attempts to end the conversation, “what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s not going to budge, is she?”

“No.”

“She sure sounds stubborn.”

“She is a little.”

“You probably think it’s cute.”

For the first time since they had arrived, Shuyin lifted his head, a somewhat surprised look on his face. This, in turn, was met with a lop-sided smile from Yasuo. “Just seeing if you were paying attention,” he explained casually.

“I can’t deal with you right now,” Shuyin muttered wearily as he laid his forehead against the arm of the couch again. “Remind me to never tell you any of my problems ever again.”

“Why, I love you too, Shuyin,” Yasuo taunted, chuckling.

“ _Never_ say that again.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your heart belongs to another,” Yasuo said dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest in mock-agony. “Oh hideous day! My dear friend has been stolen from me! Curse you, oh beautiful brunette siren!”

“How much did you drink?”

“I’m not hearing any denial,” From the way he said that, Shuyin had the distinct feeling that Yasuo was expecting a quick, rude retort. It probably came as a surprise to him then, when Shuyin said nothing at all, and instead fell silent. In response, Yasuo grew quiet too. Whatever smug satisfaction he was getting out of Shuyin’s non-reaction, he kept any comments about it to himself, for which Shuyin was grateful.

“You could try joining the army if you want to go with her, you know,” Yasuo continued after a moment, poking Shuyin in the knee. “I’ve heard that a lot of soldiers are getting shipped out too.”

“Tried it a week ago,” said Shuyin plainly, kicking his leg to remove Yasuo’s hand from it.

“And?”

“New recruits don’t get passports,” he answered. “Anyone who joins now gets recruited into a militia and stays behind as part of a second defense force.”

“Jeez,” Yasuo muttered, shaking his head bemusedly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the higher-ups _wanted_ the front lines to be blown to bits.” Shuyin visibly flinched, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and willing away the horrible images that Yasuo’s careless statement had fashioned for him. Though Yasuo did quietly apologize when his alcohol-hampered mind eventually caught up with his mouth, the damage was already done.

“They probably don’t see anything else happening,” Shuyin answered solemnly. “Bevelle’s too strong for us to take head on. Better to have a second group around to pick up where the front lines leave off.” Prompted by this assertion, bits and pieces of his abysmal daydreams and nightmares began worrying the edges of his mind, pictures that he could hardly bring himself to imagine without being sick.

Then, a less grizzly image emerged from the mire, though when coupled with his current thoughts, was hardly less brutal then the others: a picture of Lenne, smiling sweetly and looking as if nothing could dampen her mood. Within a few months time (before they had even spent a year in each other’s company, he thought forlornly), he would never get to see her smile like that again. He was going to lose her.

“Damn Bevelle,” he choked, almost quietly enough to not be heard. Then, with enough venom lacing his words that it seemed they might poison him, he shouted, “Damn those sick bastards! They’re going to kill the summoners and the soldiers and anyone else who gets in their way for a bunch of machina! Lenne is—she’s going to—for machina! _Machina_!” At any other time, the cautious silence that filled the room when he paused for breath probably would have brought Shuyin back to his senses, albeit rather awkwardly. However, being in near hysterics by this point, he was all but unconscious to Yasuo’s reaction. “Those scum don’t deserve to breathe! If I could get a hold of one of those damn machina of theirs, _they’d_ see how much they liked being at the other end of it! I’d kill ‘em all. _Every last one of them!_ Bevelle would be a crater before I was done! Then this whole stupid war could be over, and everything could go back to the way it’s supposed to be. Everything—all of Spira would be better if Bevelle was gone!” Having nothing else to say without becoming completely incoherent, Shuyin quieted, his coarse breathing the only thing that kept the silence—which was quickly becoming both uncomfortable and oppressive—from swallowing him completely.

Then, saying nothing in response to Shuyin’s rant, Yasuo slowly got to his feet and headed to the other end of the room, moving with as much purpose as one could while staggering. “My gramps was a guard before he died,” he said as he came to a stop at the opposite wall, standing before the closet door that was its only embellishment.

“. . .What?” said Shuyin, looking rather taken aback. Though he hadn’t really stopped to ponder how Yasuo would react to his tirade (and, in all honesty, hadn’t really cared), talking about past family occupations was definitely not what he had expected.

“A military guard. You know, one of those really low paid ones who stand around big rusty equipment and throw themselves in the way if someone tries to mess with it,” Yasuo continued. By now, he had pulled the closet door open and had started digging through the jumble of objects within, throwing some out at random and letting them fall where they would (leaving Shuyin to compensate for this carelessness by ducking whenever something came his way). “Not the best position in the world, but it made sure his family didn’t starve to death or get charged with public indecency, so he was all right with it. So, one day, his higher-ups made him swear allegiance to Bevelle, and sent him downstairs to guard some super-secret weapon that the engineers were working on. The construction had only been underway for about a year, but apparently, plans were being made even before I was born.

“So, gramps was down there for about two, two and a half years, something like that. He watched the engineers put it together, and got to see the finished product. When it was finally done though, it started acting really strange, reacting to the guards like it could tell they were there and that they were afraid of it. He’d been thinking about it for a while then, but that’s when he finally decided that Bevelle wasn’t the best place to be anymore.

“Problem was, mom didn’t want to leave. Mom had lived in Bevelle all her life, and she loved it there. She was the stubborn daughter of a stubborn man. So, gramps decided to show her what it was that made him think Bevelle wasn’t safe anymore. Sometime in the night, he snuck into the surveillance booth at the military complex, and took an old sphere that showed the weapon that he’d been helping guard for so long. He’d been hoping to get a sphere of it waking up and reacting to the guards, but he couldn’t quite find one in time.

“But, even when he showed it to her, she still didn’t want to leave Bevelle behind. I can’t really blame her though. She’d lived in Bevelle from the day she was born. She’d never even been anywhere else. Everything she knew and loved was in Bevelle. Actually, she probably wouldn’t have left at all, if it weren’t for me.” Pausing for a moment in his inspection of an old shoe, Yasuo sighed distantly. “She was a great woman, mom. Couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” Then the moment was over, and he quickly returned to both his excursion and tale.

“It took mom about a month to get our bags packed and loose ends tied up. I remember her crying while we were riding the hover down the Highbridge. She was looking out at the sea though, so I figured she was sadder about leaving dad behind than leaving Bevelle. After that, she decided we’d go to Zanarkand, since it was closer than all the other cities. I’ve been here ever since.”

With that, on a note just as outlandish as the one on which it had started, Yasuo’s account came to an abrupt end. This left Shuyin with nothing else to do besides stare at the other man rather dumbly, his previous woes temporarily forgotten as he pondered whether there had been a vat of booze under the table at the club that he hadn’t noticed.

“You are not Bevellian,” Shuyin said, his dumbstruck mind at a loss to come up with anything else.

“No, I’m not,” Yasuo responded calmly as he went through the pockets of a pair of pants at least three sizes too small. “I only lived there until I was four.”

“Okay, you are _way_ too drunk.”

“I may be drunk, but I’m no liar.”

“You are _not_ Bevellian!”

“We’ve established this, Shuyin. Please try to keep up.” However, before Shuyin could make an angry reply built of arguments that he had already used, Yasuo cut him off with a triumphant cry of, “Ah ha! Found it!” Gracelessly bumping into the door as he turned to face Shuyin, Yasuo held a video sphere up to the light, his newly made fingerprints the only blemishes on its thick shell of dust. “Remember that sphere I mentioned earlier?” he said as he meandered over to the couch, shoved Shuyin’s legs out of the way, and plopped down beside him. “The one my gramps stole? Well, somehow, it got mixed in with the stuff that mom and me brought with us when we left. And when I inherited mom’s stuff it was in one of the older boxes, right along with those hair clips she wore during her wedding. No idea why she kept either of them. Never looked at them after they went in that box, I figure. I would think it would be too painful for her. That was mom for you, though. Never liked to _completely_ forget anything.”

Tipping his hand to the side, Yasuo let the sphere fall unceremoniously from his hands into Shuyin’s, as if it were of no more worth than a few rusty gil inadvertently found in the cushions of a chair. “Anyway, I figured you would think I was crazy without some proof,” he said, tapping a finger against the orb. Hearing the smug certainty in Yasuo’s voice made Shuyin’s own confidence waver, which became apparent to him when the click of Yasuo’s fingernail against the glass became surprisingly menacing.

Blinking at the small globe and momentarily casting a wary gaze in Yasuo’s direction (and receiving only the other man’s fearfully persuasive smirk in return), Shuyin suddenly felt far more nervous than he knew it was reasonable to be. Yasuo was quite obviously drunk, Shuyin reminded himself, though he hardly needed to when his friend was in such close proximity. The many years that they had known each other had effectively taught Shuyin that Yasuo was prone to rattling on about all manner of ridiculous things when he was drunk. Still, the haughty look that the man was giving him now, along with the certainty with which he spoke, was starting to make Shuyin wonder. But, frankly, if such nonsense were by some miracle true, Shuyin thought he’d rather not know it.

Yasuo, however, would not back down as easily as Shuyin would have liked. “Come on,” he coaxed, smiling in self-satisfaction. “If you think I’m crazy, you can watch that sphere and be crazy with me. I need the company.” Then, feeling as if he had no other choice, Shuyin took a deep breath, told himself that it was all a sham and that he would probably end up watching some old home videos, and reluctantly played the sphere.


	10. Chapter 10

As the video within the sphere came to life, its sub-par image quality quickly became apparent. The footage fizzed and hissed, and the picture was likewise blurry. Adding in the shadows and grayish hues that dominated the screen, it seemed as if the video was of no more than a gray blob with a few sharp edges neatly drawn in.

However, a moment later, the camera angle changed completely, showing a much different and clearer picture. Slowly, the camera began panning up what looked like a meticulous engraved statue. The ridges and curves on its surface were plentiful, deepened by the scene’s dim light and the consequently deep shadows. Then, even more quickly than before, the camera switched again, this time to a scene where the statue wasn’t present at all. In its place was a helmeted man walking stiffly down a platform, the echoing sound of his footsteps almost startling after the past few moments of utter silence. In the background were vast, domed walls, strange blue symbols blinking in and out of sight all along them. Slowly, the camera panned to follow the man, an ominous (and by now familiar) gray mass beginning to creep into the picture.

Before even half of it moved into view however, the picture changed yet again, focusing instead on two stationary men almost identical to the one in the previous frame. The footage was clearer this time, making their thick military style helmets, industrial goggles, and liberally placed armor starkly apparent, as well as the outmoded but nonetheless intimidating rifles that they held rigidly across their fronts.

Then, after one more shot of a slow-moving guard (who, like the previous two, bore no physical dissimilarities to the first man), a new sequence began; one that quickly revealed the video’s primary focus and, due once again to the area’s eerie light, increased the spine-pricking terror that the object already conveyed. At first glance, it appeared to be some sort of fearsome creature; giant, menacing tusks reaching out from the sides of its head and teeth bared formidably. However, its more apparent likeness to a statue quickly became clear, particularly when its immobility was taken into account. As if to prove this, the camera switched again, panning from the intricately carved statue of the second frame to the menacing face of the previous one. Giant, curling horns that had not been nearly as apparent from the camera’s prior angle could now be seen perched upon the statue’s head, making it that much more menacing. A few strange, gigantic objects resembling insect legs surrounded the statue’s body, as if it were awkwardly curled in upon itself.

Then, the camera switched one last time, zooming in close enough for the light gleaming off the statue’s disturbingly human teeth to be noticeable. Gradually, the camera panned to the side, moving to focus on the dark hollows that served as the statue’s eyes. They were seemingly blank, but not empty and vacant like the eyes of a statue should be. In truth, they resembled those of a sleeping beast more than those of a lifeless artifact. In addition, even as empty as they seemed, the curve of the statue’s brow helped to give it a sharp, chilling glare. It was almost as if it were glowering at the camera, like anyone watching the footage being recorded was somehow an intruder in its domain, and would be dealt with in due time.

This was the exact feeling that Shuyin was left with when the video ended with the same fizzle and crack as it had begun.

“What . . .what _was_ that thing?” he stammered, holding the sphere away from him as if bringing it any closer would evoke the statue’s wrath.

“Vegnagun,” Yasuo responded simply, taking the sphere from Shuyin and rubbing it with his sleeve. “I really should have cleaned this _before_ we watched it. Sorry about that.”

“But what _is_ it?” Shuyin growled, more than a little frustrated with how calm Yasuo was in comparison to himself.

“Think about that name for a second, Shuyin. Vegna _gun_. What do you think it is?”

Just as he was about to violently elbow the other man in the head and hopefully knock the sarcasm clean out of him, Shuyin paused, slowly letting a relieved smile replace his grimace. “I get it,” he said, chuckling a bit under his breath and stretching out languidly. “It’s all a prank. That’s it, isn’t it? I mean, if that were real,”—feigning blasé, he gestured toward the newly cleaned sphere in Yasuo’s hand—“you wouldn’t even have it anymore.”

“Oh really?” Yasuo replied, giving Shuyin a sideways glance. Though his expression still contained a decent amount of humor, it wasn’t the sort that Shuyin had expected. Instead of the resigned look of a man who had been caught in a joke, he continued to look smug, and worryingly accommodating. “Why’s that?”

His composure slipping some, Shuyin shook his head. “Oh come on, Yasuo,” he said impatiently. “If that sphere were real, you would have handed it over to Yevon by now. Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

Yasuo’s smile broadened as his hand went to his forehead, a laugh that Shuyin at first mistook for a hiccup resonating from his throat. Realizing anew that he had called Yasuo’s bluff, Shuyin could feel relief spreading through him, easing the tension in his nerves like warm water on a sore muscle. However, the feeling was promptly sapped away when Yasuo turned toward him and said in guttural voice, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Slowly, Yasuo leaned forward, his so gaze sharp that Shuyin felt he might be cut up by it if the other man leaned in much closer. “I was born in Bevelle, Shuyin,” he said firmly, the smile that seemed as much a part of him as his eye color or the shape of his nose having long vanished. “I’m _not_ Bevellian. I hate that place. I’d love to see it blown to bits as much as anyone else in this city. But _they_ wouldn’t care about that. Those people who run our government? Yevon and his little band of officials? They wouldn’t give a damn that Zanarkand is my home, because my information has ‘Bevelle’ written under birthplace.”

By now, the normally calm, steady Yasuo that Shuyin knew so well was gone. In his place was a small, fidgety, angry man; one with lips pursed tightly enough for them to bleed and hands that shook like they were somehow possessed. In an apparent attempt to quell his anxiety, Yasuo got to his feet and began slowly pacing while staring at the far wall. “I’m a nobody, Shuyin. Maybe I’m a blitzball player, but what do any of those people in the crowd know about me? They know my name. That’s _it_ ,” he said, somewhat frightening Shuyin with his lack of humorous annotations. Normally, Yasuo would throw in something like, “well, that _and_ that I’m the best player on the team,” at the end of a declaration like the one he’d just made, and the absence of such was at the very least vexing.

“The way things are, the government has no reason to bother with me,” Yasuo continued. “An ordinary blitzball player like me isn’t worth their time; not when they have a war going on and a city’s worth of people to keep track of. I’m way down there on their priority list. But if I showed them this,”—he turned toward Shuyin, holding the sphere up so that it might be seen—“then they’d get suspicious of me. They’d wonder how an insignificant little nobody like me managed to get top-secret information from the most ruthless city in the world. Then, they’d look me up, and they’d find out where I’m from. Do you have _any_ idea what they’d do to me then?”

From somewhere off in the darkness of the early morning, Shuyin could hear a group of partygoers shouting jovially back and forth to one another. From somewhere closer, the indistinct thump of bass-heavy music could just barely be heard. At that point, he could even swear that from where he sat pressed into the couch cushions in shock, he could hear the electric hum from the streetlights several stories down. Right then, the silence in the room was so absolute that it really didn’t seem all that outlandish.

“T—then why did you show it to me?” Shuyin stammered carefully, silently bracing himself for another wave of volatile anger.

Thankfully, nothing of the sort came. Instead, Yasuo quickly shook such anger away, laughing sheepishly at his outburst and all in all looking a great deal more subdued than before. “I wanted someone to be crazy with, I guess.” Wearily, he staggered back to the couch, sprawling across it like he had just been put through some sort of grueling exercise. “You know, prove to myself that I wasn’t just making the whole thing up.”

“But _why_?” said Shuyin, the volume of his voice slowly rising as his confidence and previous state of irritation returned. “Why _me_?”

“Why you?” Yasuo parroted, scratching his neck and looking off to the side to stare rather intently at nothing at all. “Well, if memory serves, you’re the only one here.”

“ _Yasuo, so help me_ —”

“ _And_ you want Bevelle gone,” Yasuo quickly finished, raising his voice to speak over his aggravated friend. “At least, that’s what it sounded like you said. I could be wrong.”

“And that—” sputtered Shuyin, pointing at the small orange globe, “that—whatever the hell that was is supposed to help me?”

“That’s the concept, yes.”

“. . . How drunk are you?”

“I controlled myself, thank you very much,” Yasuo said indignantly. “I wanted to help you.”

“And this is how you do it?” Shuyin barked, tugging at his hair in frustration. “By showing me this thing so that I know just how much worse things are going to get? _This is helpful? How_ is this helpful?”

“Use it,” said Yasuo exasperatedly, gesturing toward the sphere.

“What are you talking about?”

“Use it. Blow up Bevelle. You just said you wanted to. It’s right under the city anyway.”

“ _If it’s right under_ —” Shuyin started before freezing mid-sentence and throwing his arms up with a shout of frustration. “You know what? Go to bed. You’re drunk. You’re going to go to sleep, and I’m going to go to sleep, and hopefully we’ll wake up and realize that this never happened.” Before Yasuo could argue, Shuyin put his foot behind the man’s shoulder and gave him a violent shove, sending him tumbling off the couch with a heavy ‘thud’. With a harsh, “Goodnight,” Shuyin flipped over on his side, glaring at the cushions and ignoring Yasuo’s slurred griping (which became difficult after a few minutes, when Yasuo resorted to throwing a blitzball at Shuyin’s head in an attempt to get his attention).

Finally, after a few patience-testing minutes, Yasuo sighed in resignation, returned Shuyin’s “Goodnight,” (admittedly with more sincerity), and flicked the lights off. This left Shuyin with nothing to do but wait for sleep, and hope that come morning, he would realize that the lunacies of the past hour were all just a very vivid and linear nightmare.

\---

Unfortunately, as Shuyin found out several hours later, luck was not on his side with this matter.

“Hey, Shuyin. You awake?”

“No.”

“Aw that’s too bad. I might just have to throw something at you then to wake you up.”

“Touch me, and I throw you out the window.”

“Hmph. Somebody’s grumpy. And after all that help I gave you yesterday. I practically let you cry on my shoulder, and I didn’t laugh at you once. And what do I get for it? Nothing. Not a single thank you. I’m feeling unloved here, Shuyin.”

Groaning in exhaustion and resignation, Shuyin flipped over, looking off in the general direction that Yasuo’s voice had come from. To his immense displeasure, the first thing he saw after spotting the other man sitting languidly upon his mattress was a familiar orange ball in his hand, sunlight shining through it and giving it a warm glow.

“Aren’t you hungover or something?” Shuyin snapped, flipping back over and curling into himself in what he later realized was probably a rather pathetic-looking manner. “Why aren’t you still asleep?”

“I told you I held off last night,” Yasuo said cheerfully. “The light’s getting to me a little, but other than that, I’m good. Your concern is touching, by the way.”

“Screw you.”

“There’s that grumpiness again.”

Heaving a sigh, Shuyin shook his head in weary aggravation. “Yasuo, please put that thing away.”

“What? This?”

“The sphere, Yasuo. I don’t want to see it again.”

“Hm. Suit yourself. But you know, I just gave you what you wanted by showing it to you.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Shuyin spat back, huffing under his breath.

“I did!" Yasuo replied with the slightest bit of resentment. “You wanted a way to get rid of Bevelle, and I gave one to you.”

“And this is your idea of giving me options?” Shuyin responded heatedly, sitting up and glaring at the other man. “Showing me that thing? How am I supposed to get at it if it’s under Bevelle, Yasuo? And even if I could get down there, it’s probably not even there anymore! In fact, Bevelle’s probably going to be using it on us!” Almost immediately, Shuyin regretted the brash statement, as the realization that it would probably be used on the summoners first struck him like a blow.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” said Yasuo with a shake of his head. “When gramps had mom and me leave Bevelle, he told us that this thing was still really unstable. Wanted to be honest with mom, I suppose. According to him, it could sense emotions, and it lashed out at anyone that was even afraid of it. And trust me, a lot of guys were afraid of it.”

“Wasn’t that something like _twenty years ago_?” Shuyin said exasperatedly. “You’d think that twenty years is plenty of time to get bugs like that sorted out.”

“If they had, they’d probably be showing the thing off a little more. It’d sure make diplomatic relations a little easier for them,” Yasuo pointed out.

“Okay, fine,” said Shuyin, holding his hands up and shutting his eyes in an attempt to ease his frustration. “Say this thing is still down there. Even say that I somehow manage to get out of Zanarkand without getting caught, let alone get into Bevelle. There’s still the little issue that I don’t know how to use the thing! I seriously doubt there’s an instruction manual taped to the control panel or something.”

After a short, charged pause, Yasuo got to his feet, the mattress’s aged springs screeching at the shifting of his weight. “There are more ways to find this kind of stuff out than just an instruction manual, you know,” he answered. Walking over to the couch and handing the sphere over to Shuyin (and then tossing it onto the cushions with a shrug when the blonde refused to take it), he sauntered over to the half-opened closet, pushing the objects that obstructed the door to the side. In a much more orderly manner than the previous night, he started searching through the morass of objects, muttering indistinctly under his breath as he did so.

After watching for a few moments and making sure that he wouldn’t have to dodge anymore airborne objects, Shuyin turned away and dropped his gaze, settling it upon his shoes. He could all but sense the sphere beside him, and he had the sudden urge to shove it clean off the couch and kick it to the other side of the room (where it would hopefully deposit itself in a corner he couldn’t quite see, or break). However, before he could muster the will to even look at the thing, his thoughts were interrupted by a proclamation of, “Here we go!” from Yasuo.

Swiftly, the man turned on a heel and walked up to Shuyin, dropping his finding on the couch and thankfully covering up the offending orange orb with it. It was a stack of what looked like old newspapers, roughly a few inches high and piled rather haphazardly. Upon noticing the heading on the topmost issue, Shuyin promptly slapped a hand over his forehead in exasperation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned, looking at Yasuo as if he were a few levels past insane. “The Inside Track? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s not just the Inside Track,” Yasuo pointed out, shifting the first paper to the side to reveal a few of the ones below it. “I’ve got some others here too. You can’t really get reliable information if you only use one news source.”

“You can’t get reliable information from them anyway!” Shuyin shouted, mere seconds away from jumping to his feet and waving his arms around like a madman. “They’re conspiracy newsletters, Yasuo! _Tabloids!_ ”

“Hey, don’t start doubting them that fast,” Yasuo advised, trying to organize the pile into something resembling orderly. “See, there were more guys guarding that thing than just gramps, and they were all sworn to secrecy. That, and they weren’t ever allowed to leave Bevelle. Their higher-ups didn’t want them blabbing about the secret weapon, after all. But, as bad as that place is, there are still a few people that come out of there that don’t want to shoot you. A couple of them have morals.

“So, some of them tried to get information out to other places, to warn people about what was going on. Not many of them got out of it alive, though. It was kind of a waste, too. They made the mistake of not coming out about it all at once. One guy would have the gall to say something, and he’d get shot to death for treason. A few years later, after everybody’d forgotten about the first guy, another guy would grow a spine and tell somebody right before the same thing happened to him. That, and they never went to the same people to tell the story. Since they did it like that, everybody thought it was just one crazy guy telling the story, so nobody believed it. At least, none of your ‘credible’ news sources, Shuyin. These guys,”—he knocked a fist against the stack, then quickly moved to steady it when it started to topple—“were the only ones who would publish the stories.”

Slowly, Shuyin looked down at the stack once again, hesitance and dismay curling the corners of his mouth. On the cover was an artist’s depiction of the weapon, wherein the ‘artist’ apparently felt the need to add a gratuitous amount of extra spikes to the weapon (as if, somehow, it weren’t threatening enough on its own). Squinting at it, he did his best to put himself in Yasuo’s mindset and seriously consider what useful information the paper might contain. However, he found such nearly impossible, thanks to the picture and headline in the sidebar that claimed that the emperor’s daughter was actually some sort of abysmal demon in disguise. Quickly, his hand returned to his head, massaging it fruitlessly.

“You know, you’re the only person I ever told about this,” Yasuo said digressively, stretching his arms over his head in a very languid manner. “I’ll bet that makes you feel special.”

Slowly, as if the weight of the situation were weighing upon him physically, Shuyin looked up at the other man, shaking his head. “You only told me because you were drunk.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Yasuo admitted with a chuckle. Picking up the stack of papers and the sphere, he set them down on the floor, thankfully behind the arm of the couch where Shuyin wouldn’t have to look at them. “It’s horrible how chatty I get when I’m drunk. This isn’t the first time it’s gotten me in trouble either. Oh man, this one time, Kilea wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”

“Is that why you’re so paranoid when you’re drunk?” Shuyin interjected. “Because you know about . . . that thing?”

“When I’m drunk?” Yasuo parroted, chuckling some. “I’m paranoid _all_ the time. It’s just when I’m drunk that I get a little too gabby. I’ll whine about whatever was on my mind while I was sober, and that’s what gets me in trouble.”

“Hmm.” The two fell to awkward silence then, the conversation swiftly and effectively brought to an end. While the papers and sphere were now completely out of sight and Shuyin would just as soon never look upon them again, he couldn’t help but let the smallest bit of morbid curiosity creep into his mind. Slowly, he let his eyes drift about the floor, stopping at the corner of the couch around which he knew the objects were hidden.

It was stupid, really. Even if this weapon did actually exist and was still underneath Bevelle after supposedly twenty years without use, thinking that it would be possible to get anywhere near it was nothing short of delusional. Even trying to convince himself that it was impossible by bringing up all the other issues involved with such an undertaking (the airtight security of both Zanarkand and Bevelle, his completely and utter ignorance of how to operate something of such a capacity, and the at best feeble information that he had to go off) seemed ludicrous. He shouldn’t have to try to rationalize why it was so ridiculous; it just was. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest, most minuscule hint of eagerness, like smoke at the end of a candlewick. Even as he scrambled once more for new reasons that it couldn’t possibly work, he couldn’t help but wonder.

What if it could?

“That’s what I was hoping would happen with you, too,” Yasuo said suddenly, jerking Shuyin from his thoughts. “But of course, you had to be a little wimp and not drink. Can’t get you to talk about Lenne when you’re sober for anything. You know, I don’t believe for a second that she’s ‘just a friend’.”

Giving Yasuo a look of both perplexity and annoyance, Shuyin said, “Has anyone ever told you that you act a lot like a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Yasuo responded, shrugging and playing at indifference, though it was betrayed by his amused grin.

“Really? Well, color me shocked,” Shuyin answered.

“You’re going to go see her after this, right?”

“What?”

“Lenne,” Yasuo explained, pointing at Shuyin near-accusingly. “Unless I’m mistaken, you told me you had a fight with her.”

“. . . Only you could manage to get ‘fight’ out of anything I said.”

“Well, you could just _call_ it a fight. Trust me: you’ll love make-up—”

Sending Yasuo a scowl that could have melted the nerve of the most battle-hardened warrior, Shuyin said, “If you say what I think you’re about to say, I’m going to shove this couch cushion down your throat.”

“I’m not hearing any deni—”

Yasuo really did have a strange way of changing the subject. Then again, given the topic that he was managing to avoid thinking about, Shuyin only felt the need to complain over the topic that had been chosen. Though, since things like the weather and ruthlessly mangled gossip wouldn’t have given him a reason to dispense to Yasuo his much overdue retribution, he did admit that it wouldn’t have been nearly as effective.

\---

“He has been here for over an hour,” Shuyin heard one of the shopkeeper’s hiss indignantly to the other. “I could’ve sold twenty of those things in the time it’s taken him to buy one. No, no, not even that! _Think_ about buying one.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” The other one murmured, far more conscious than his co-worker that Shuyin could probably hear them.

“Get him to buy the damn thing, or kick him out! _I_ , for one, want to close up.”

“Just . . . give him a few more minutes.”

From the other end of the shop, Shuyin continued to pretend that he hadn’t heard them, which he had become remarkably good at over the past half-hour. Slowly, he ran the tips of his fingers across ivory keys, pressing down on one of them and letting a rich, deep chime ring out, resonating around the many drums and brass contraptions that cluttered the tiny, one room music shop.

He didn’t blame the shopkeepers for getting aggravated with him. In truth, it should have been an incredibly simple purchase. Like many of the other shops in Zanarkand, this one had been drastically affected by the lack of imports, and hence had only one keyboard in stock. However, the moral stigma that was attached to such a purchase unfortunately kept it from being as straightforward as it normally would have been.

Somehow, at the end of Shuyin’s stay at Yasuo’s, the newspapers and sphere had ended up departing with him. Though it had taken him quite a bit of time and a good deal of willpower, he’d finally forced himself to leaf through the stack of tabloids, (but not before taking the sphere and putting it somewhere where he wouldn’t have to look at it). As could be expected, quite a few of the articles were rather useless and disappointing, rambling on about things like scandals long proved false and half-human half-Doomstones glimpsed through fuzzy sphere-recorder lenses. However, several of them actually seemed informative, and possibly even beneficial to him (if the information was true, that is). It was in one of these articles that he first found out that the weapon had no control panel, as he had previously thought. Instead, it was operated via a built-in electronic piano situated atop its ‘head’. As ridiculous as it had sounded at the time, after finding the same information in more than three other articles, he couldn’t help but submit to the idea. That’s what found him in his current location, pondering whether or not he should concede to what felt like such a hazardous strategy.

On one hand, resting the hope of Lenne’s survival on so flimsy a plan was nothing short of appalling. Somehow, he felt as if doing so were no better than if he were betting her life on a dice roll. The mere thought made him very fond of the notion of leaving the newspapers to the mercy of a good blaze, and introducing the sphere to the sharper part of his combat blitzball.

However, every time he thought of looking for a safer, more definite option, he would realize anew that he had exhausted every other one open to him. Even though the thought of throwing Lenne’s fate to chance was horrible enough to turn his stomach with self-loathing, doing nothing left him with the distinct feeling of being repeatedly run through.

“Um, sir?” said the second shopkeeper timidly, obviously hassled into speaking up by his brasher colleague. “We’ll be closing up in a few minutes. Did you plan on buying that?”

Slowly shutting his eyes, Shuyin took a deep breath and placed his hand atop a few of the black keys. They were warm beneath his touch, having soaked up the heat of the mid-afternoon sun as black things often do. Slowly, he ran the question through his head once more, letting it slowly morph and change as it merged with his many doubts. What if it was all really fake? What if he failed? What if it didn’t work? What if it were a hopeless plan right from the start?

But what if it wasn’t?

“Yeah,” he finally said, the words echoing about in his head strangely. “Yeah, I do,” he repeated. “How much is it?”


	11. Chapter 11

“Damn it!” Shuyin shouted in frustration, bring his fist down on the keyboard’s keys and sending a piqued medley of notes ringing through the apartment. As it bounced amongst the dark, dusty corners and faded away into nothing, he let his own half-growl, half-moan take its place. Dropping his head into a hand, he massaged it fruitlessly in an attempt to ease his aggravation.

There had been time for screw-ups during the first week of teaching himself to play. Though disappointment had begun to settle in even after his first day of practice (which had left a sound similar to that of a dying cat ringing in his ears for hours afterward), he’d still retained the enthusiasm of a beginner; certain that the next time he sat down and played, he’d hear a masterwork instead of the grating shriek of the previous playing session.

However, as time continued to pass far more swiftly than he would have liked, such hope grew steadily weaker, replaced by nearly overwhelming frustration. Despite his constant practice sessions (which, depending on the day, could last several hours), the squeal of incorrect notes and the stabbing silences during moments of uncertainty didn’t fade. Even when his life had essentially degenerated into a far more depressing version of his training days several months previous (with his days entirely spent by practicing the song, guarding Lenne in the still unfortunately frequent Bevelle attacks, and spending as much extra time with her as circumstances saw fit) his progress was infuriatingly slow, if not non-existent. He’d hardly managed to play even a quarter of the song correctly, let alone memorize it.

There wasn’t time for this anymore, he thought as he tugged relentlessly at his hair, as though that might somehow improve the situation. He only had three months left before the summoners were dispatched to their ruin. In that time, not only did he have to train his clumsy fingers to hit the right keys and learn the entirety of Vegnagun’s Ballad, but also figure out exactly how to get out of Zanarkand, how to get into Bevelle, where the weapon was, and how to access it, all without being detected (not to mention figure out what he was going to say to Lenne before he up and disappeared). Every hour that he managed to waste turned into a day before his eyes, which then turned into a week even as he scrambled to use the time to it’s fullest.

With that time, he was losing hope. Every failed attempt at playing the song forced it to drift away that much more, until he was holding on with no more than the tips of his fingers. Laying his arm against the keyboard and resting his head on it, he could feel it slipping even further away. He was going to fail. Time was flying by him, and he could do nothing to slow it. He was never going to be able to do everything that he needed to do. There wasn’t time.

There just wasn’t enough _time_.

However, before he could sink any further into such destructive and bleak musings, a sharp knock rang through the apartment, shocking him into attention.

“Shuyin?” came a familiar, muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Are you there? It’s me.”

All but leaping away from the keyboard, he called back, “Yeah. Hold on a second.” Swiftly, he unearthed one of the practice books that he had bought to learn notes and clefs (and had not touched since it had fulfilled that purpose), took the papers containing Vegnagun’s Ballad, and buried them within its pages. Even if she wouldn’t know what the music’s purpose was it would still probably be best not to take any chances in the matter, he decided. She was, after all, far too smart.

After assuring that the papers were successfully concealed and no loose corners were poking out, he set the book down and started for the door. Then, remembering that she was written into his lock registry (and had been for several months; he was really out of it), he called, “Come in!” before plopping carelessly down upon his bed. The covers were still thrown askew and curled into an awkward pile—the byproduct of his restless sleep—and they pushed against his back and limbs at odd angles. However, he didn’t feel the compulsion to move. Why bother? It’d been a _very_ restless sleep, and as a result probably eliminated any potentially comfortable positions now.

A few mechanical clicks of the knob and bolt later, Lenne walked in, the songstress outfit that adorned her in stark contrast to the staff that she had leaning against her shoulder. Upon spotting him, her features almost immediately took on a look of concern. “Are you all right?” she asked, leaning her staff against the wall and walking over to him.

“Hm? What?”

“You look exhausted,” she explained. “You’re not sick are you?” Before he could reply, she knelt down on the mattress and reached over to him, brushing her hand beneath his bangs to check for a temperature.

“Do I really look that horrible?” Shuyin asked tiredly, chuckling under his breath despite himself.

“. . . no, of course not,” she quickly amended, sheepishly pulling her hand away after a few moments.

“I’m just tired,” he answered, smiling as she rubbed her own forehead in an attempt to casually test his temperature without him noticing. Pretending he hadn’t, he added, “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” and threw in a good, feline stretch for effect.

“How come?” she asked, her eyes curious as she sat down beside him and scanned his frame for any other signs of fatigue.

“Uh. . . nothing really. I think the heat just got to me,” he answered casually. In the back of his mind, he could hear piano chords echoing about as if to call his fib.

“Ah,” she responded with a nod. “Well, are you up to coming with me today?”

“Huh? Coming with you where?”

“To the temple, remember? For the next Aeon.”

Almost immediately, the memory of their arrangement came back to him, and it was only by sheer force of will that he didn’t flinch. She’d told him a week or so ago that she was going to try and obtain the Aeon in the northeast temple today—the second to last aeon. In a matter of hours, she would be that much closer to completing all the things necessary for her departure, and that was hardly something he wanted to think about.

Still, no matter how much he wished to divert her attentions by whatever means he could, his resolve to do so had slipped away before he even began a distraction. He was in no position to try and combat her ingrained steadfastness, as the past few weeks had taught him. So, instead of throwing out something about the ridiculously increased price of good epoxy resin, he said, “Oh . . .oh yeah. I remember now. Was that really today?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “But if you’re not up to it, it’s all right. You don’t have to go.”

“No, I want to,” he responded, lazily pushing himself up and settling into a sitting position. “It’s my job after all. What kind of guardian would I be if I left you hanging?”

“I’m just going to the temple,” she pointed out, absently brushing a few creases out of his sleeve. “You don’t necessarily _have_ to be there if you don’t want to be. I won’t be in any danger.”

“You never know. You might get mobbed by people on the way there,” he said humorously, though in truth he was only half-joking. “Gotta protect you for those adoring fans.”

“Oh, they aren’t that bad.”

“. . . can’t say I agree with you there.”

“They _aren’t_. They just like my music. It’s a compliment.”

“But they like you too,” he said, smiling as he casually set his chin in his palm. It felt good to smile, given how he hadn’t had much to do so about during the time he spent in solitude. She, thankfully, was remarkably good at bestowing him with such reason. “Can you blame them?”

“Well isn’t that sweet of you?” she said, shaking her head though she was seemingly unable to keep a smile of her own from gracing her lips.

“I try,” he said nonchalantly, chuckling afterwards. “Besides, I’d never hear the end of it from that clergy if I didn’t go with you,” He was tempted to make a comment about the stiff old fogies already hating him enough, but decided on the more courteous wording of, “They don’t seem to like me too much as it is.”

“They like you,” she assured, waving a hand to refute his claim. “You just . . . don’t see eye-to-eye on some things. That’s all.”

“You always know how to put things nicely,” he complimented, grinning, before getting to his feet and stretching like a spring relieved of burden. “Well, I’d better get dressed then. Don’t want you to get in trouble for being late.”

\---

In the past, Lenne had explained the summoner’s cycle of Aeon obtainment to Shuyin in vivid detail. The least powerful Aeon—a minute creature that wouldn’t come past the average person’s hips if not for its ears, and did little more than cast Mirror on its respective summoner—had its fayth housed in the southeast temple. From there, the fayth at each temple provided an increasingly stronger Aeon each time, the strongest of all sitting tucked away in the eastern temple.

Knowing this, Shuyin was easily able to guess that the temple they were visiting—the northeast temple—was home to the fayth that bestowed upon the summoners their second-most powerful Aeon. However, he wasn’t able to register the formidability of it until he accompanied Lenne to the temple for himself, her leading him on a zigzagging path to the edge of the city and amongst a few tightly packed shore-side hills to where the temple was securely nestled.

“What’s that thing?” he asked as they entered the ramshackle, tent shaped building, his eyes trained upon the floor. Though the tiles that comprised it were dusty and chipped in some places, he could still clearly make out a depiction of what appeared to be a giant cave encompassing the entire floor. In the picture, smoke rose in strings from inside the cave, and something glowed brightly from within its depths.

“Oh,” said Lenne, glancing down at the floor herself. “That’s this temple’s Aeon.”

“What?” asked Shuyin blinking in surprise and looking over the illustration again. At first glance, it had looked like no more than a simple cavern, not particularly threatening even with the smoke and light. However, now that he knew what it was, he quickly became aware of the many sharp, pointy teeth that lined the lip of the ‘cave’, and covered almost all he could see of the inside. “This isn’t to-scale, is it?” He asked a bit uneasily, his gaze running across the area that the mosaic filled. His entire apartment could have fit inside.

“No,” she answered, setting her staff against the stairs and sitting down beside it. Pulling her hair behind her head and withdrawing a ribbon from her pocket, she added, “It’s a lot bigger, actually. I’ve never really seen this one for myself, but I’ve been told it’s the size of all the temples put together.” Suddenly, Shuyin fully understood the aeon’s intimidation factor.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be,” she said, her hair back with the ribbon and giving it a good tug to assure that it would stay in place. “Are you sure you don’t mind waiting?”

“Of course not,” Shuyin responded with a wave of his hand. Casting one last, nervous glance at the mosaic beneath his feet, he moved over to the stairs as well, propping himself on the stone balustrade like some sort of unusually colorful gargoyle. “Just try not to be in there _too_ long.” Slowly, he let his eyes drift about the temple, looking at its other occupants. There were only two of them: an elderly looking man who Shuyin recognized as a priest, and a summoner slightly older than Lenne. They were conversing in the corner, most likely scheduling the summoner’s own date to obtain the daunting aeon. “I have a feeling someone would end up mad at me if I busted in to see if you were okay.”

“That probably wouldn’t be the best thing to do,” Lenne admitted with a chuckle. Picking up her staff and getting to her feet, she tapped the end of it gently against his head.

“Hey!” he protested, one eye instinctively shutting against the weight above it.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said with a playful smile. “I’ve had plenty of practice at this. I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” he conceded, pushing the staff off to the side and brushing his hair out of his eyes. “But I’m just restless by nature. I can’t help it.”

“I’ll try to hurry then,” she replied. Giving him one last tap on the shoulder, she quickly scaled the steps, waving farewell to him as she reached the top and disappeared through the entrance to the Chamber of the Fayth.

He waited for the heavy stone door to close behind her, then heaved a mighty sigh and laid back again the thick banister. Almost instantly, his mind had returned to his current predicament, bringing with it the sound of misplaced sharps and two notes being played when there should only have been one.

What was he going to do? The plan to use Vegnagun was all but out of the question, since the likelihood of its success seemed entirely too slim now. A low growl rumbling in the back of his throat, he covered his eyes and tugged at his bangs in frustration, cursing his incompetence. While it never would have been an easy task, it could have at least been possible had he had the capability to follow through with it. Now, he was once again at a loss for what to do, his options depleted all over again.

Banging his fist against the stone in frustration, he tilted his head to the side, eyelids drooping in tired hopelessness. Absently, he wanted as the summoner and clergy member that he’d spotted before bowed to each other and parted, though he saw them more as indistinct mixes of hues blended unevenly into the background rather than people.

Though the red and blue blotch that was the summoner quickly disappeared through the entrance, the door closing with an echoing thud behind him, the green splotch of a priest stayed in view for a bit, wandering unhurriedly toward the other end of the temple.

As he followed the man’s progress, Shuyin raised his head, focusing more precisely upon the man until he was finally no longer a splotch against the far wall. He could feel the metaphorical click of gears as they started up inside his head, a train of thoughts slowly beginning to form.

He’d never really stopped to consider what power the clergy held. After all, it was never particularly important in his mind, given his lack of fondness for them in general. However, as he sat there grasping at straws for a way to bypass his ineptitude, he started to wonder. If he remembered correctly, they reported directly to the emperor. What if they had some kind of official influence?

Rolling off of the balustrade just as the priest reached the other side of the temple, Shuyin watched as he reached forward, pulled open a door so well concealed that it looked to be no more than another piece of wall, stepped through, and shut it behind him. Pausing for a moment, Shuyin glanced up at the door atop the stairs, considering it. Then, he slowly turned and headed toward the door that the priest had disappeared through. He guessed that Lenne would be in the chamber for a few hours at least, given the power that she was trying to obtain. Taking that into consideration, he concluded that he should have all the time he needed.

\---

Upon quietly pushing the door open and clearing his throat to get the priest’s attention, Shuyin got a response that wasn’t exactly welcoming, yet not at all unexpected. “Oh, no,” the priest muttered in dismay upon spotting Shuyin. “Yes? What do you want, boy?”

Though the urge to respond with something particularly mocking was a strong one, Shuyin fervently reminded himself that however much he disliked the notion of it, he needed this man’s attention and help. So, taking a page from Lenne’s book, he instead said, “Can I speak with you a moment, your grace?” The words felt swollen and foreign on his tongue.

The priest must have thought the same thing, for his eyebrow quickly rose in skepticism. Nevertheless, he gave Shuyin a stiff nod before turning away, consulting a few slips of paper in his hand.

Stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, Shuyin took a look around the room, which was in truth no bigger than the average closet. Shelves lined the walls, all varieties of potions and healing items sitting upon them. Meanwhile, several boxes were packed tightly beneath the bottommost shelf, some open and half-filled with those same items that adorned the shelves.

“This is our stock of medicinal items,” the priest explained curtly, writing something down and clicking his tongue dolefully. After muttering something about running low on Phoenix Downs again, he turned toward Shuyin, holding the papers loosely at his side. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, your gr—” Shuyin started.

“Don’t speak so formally, boy,” the priest interrupted, raising a hand to silence the blonde. “It doesn’t suit you as it does your lady.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shuyin responded tersely before he could stop himself.

“You were saying?” the priest prompted, rotating his hand in a gesture of impatience.

Though outside the small closet it had seemed that bringing up the subject in question would be easy enough, now that he was inside, Shuyin was having trouble forcing the words from his tongue. Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his head and leaning against the shelf behind him (to the apparent disquiet of the priest, particularly when an Elixir bottle came dangerously close to falling from the top shelf as a result of Shuyin’s movements). “The summoners . . .”

“Yes?”

“They . . .” He started, though his anxiety continued to hold him back. Shaking his head to dispose of the encumbering emotion and taking on a more steadfast tone, he said, “We can’t just send them off to die! There has to be something else we can do, right?”

Letting out a sigh seemingly mighty enough to make the potions shake on their shelves, the priest put a hand to his wrinkled forehead, massaging it gradually. From the look on his face, one could guess that this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked such a question. “I wish there were,” he said dejectedly, lifting his list up again and going back to his work.

“How do you know there isn’t?” Shuyin countered, his voice a mix of desperation and viciousness. “We could find another way, I know we could! If we just thought a little more about it, came up with a plan—”

“That’s not my decision to make,” the priest said, scanning the shelves and checking something off on the list. “The verdict belongs to Emperor Yevon. When his decision is made, it is not our place to go against him.”

“Why not?” Shuyin shouted back, the priest’s apparent indifference to the situation pushing him ever closer to becoming irate. “Yevon’s decision is going to get the summoners killed! It’s—it’s—!”

“I’d suggest you be careful what you say next, boy. It does not do well to speak so disrespectfully of the emperor,” the priest said, his voice low. “I also suggest that you quiet that slandering tongue of yours,” he added, soft venom coating his words, “unless of course you want to make receiving the aeon harder on your lady summoner?”

Gritting his teeth with enough force to crack more than a few of them, Shuyin glowered at the other man. At his sides, his fists shook like live grenades, and it took every ounce of his will to keep himself from beating the living daylights out of the old man right then and there.

Apparently satisfied with Shuyin’s few moments of silence, the priest said, “Emperor Yevon has given this organization much. Before his reign, we had no financial assistance from the regime, and were forced to get by on our own. Most of the money for medicinal items and temple maintenance came out of our own pockets. As you can guess, that was hardly enough. Many of our summoners were wounded beyond repair, simply because of a lack of supplies. To say the least, those years without support were difficult.

“However, Emperor Yevon was a summoner before taking office, and he knew the organization’s sorry state of affairs. So, he began providing us with the finances we needed to keep going. In return, he was appointed as the leader of the organization. Now, in exchange for his continued support, we are to carry out his orders. Engaging Bevelle is one such order, and therefore we must follow it.”

His mouth hanging open slightly, Shuyin stared at the priest as his mind condensed the man’s exposition into a far more manageable—and enraging—explanation. “Yevon _bought you_?”

“Bite your tongue!” the priest snapped, whirling around to face Shuyin. Briefly stunned, the blonde impulsively recoiled, knocking in the shelves behind him. After a fearful pause as the two waited for one of the bottles to come crashing to the ground (though, thankfully, none did), they turned back to each other, both shooting the other a death-wishing glare.

“It is a summoner’s duty to protect the people of Zanarkand,” the priest hissed dangerously. “That has been so since the creation of the very first Fayth a dozen or more lifetimes ago. As of now, there is one way, and one way alone for them to do their duty, and that is to follow the orders of Emperor Yevon.” Pulling back slightly, the priest put a bit more distance between himself and Shuyin, though his eyes still continued to bore into the blonde’s with unnerving steadiness. “What, exactly, would you have them do instead?”

Slowly, Shuyin let his gaze slide from the priest’s face to rest on the tiled floor.

Desperately, he wracked his brain for a satisfactory response to the man’s question. He had, of course, had one in mind for quite a while. However, he doubted that the priest would find, “Not die,” to be a suitable answer.

After a long, charged pause during which the tension in the room was heavy enough to drown in, the priest calmly shook his head with a sigh and returned to his list. “Go back outside, boy,” he said, moving on to the next page and not so much as glancing at Shuyin. “Lady Lenne will be most perturbed if you are not there when she emerges.” Then, shaking his head once again as Shuyin made for the door, he added, “I haven’t the faintest idea what she sees in you.”

“I could say the same for you,” Shuyin muttered snappishly in response, pushing the door open more forcefully than he really needed to. 

“Hoodlum,” the priest retorted, his hearing obviously better than his age implied. Just before Shuyin slammed the door behind him with a bang and returned to his spot on the banister, he heard the priest say, “Really, she is far too fond of you for her own good.”

\---

Shuyin was left to stew in his own bitterness for nearly three hours after that before Lenne finally emerged from the chamber, sweat-streaked and feeble. The severity of her fatigue was made quite clear when, as he was coming up the steps to meet her, she tripped over her own two feet and crashed into him, nearly knocking them both down the entire flight of stairs (though ending up in a tangle of limbs near the top wasn’t particularly comfortable either, it was much better than the more painful alternative).

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked for roughly the fourth time when they arrived at his apartment, glancing about his frame for any new bruises that she hadn’t spotted before.

“I should be asking you that,” Shuyin responded in place of his usual, “I’m fine.” Shutting the door behind him, he leaned over, brushing a bit of sweat-glossed hair from her eyes. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Oh, its not that bad,” she said, waving a hand as if to brush the suggestion away. “It was just a little tiring is all. Nothing as bad as that.”

“You keep saying that,” he teased, moving past her and plopping down on his bed. “You can wash up if you need to,” he said offhandedly, rubbing his eyes. “Looks like you got quite a work-out.”

“Oh hush,” she responded, though the direction of her footsteps was enough to let him know that she had accepted the offer. “Really, you’re making too much out of it.”

A hum of concession as his response, Shuyin kicked off his shoes and flipped over onto his side, leaning back and staring absently at the wall behind him. As much as he joked about it, seeing her as exhausted as she was when she emerged from the Chamber of the Fayth was more than a little unsettling for him. Given that this was his first time accompanying her to obtain a fayth, he could only guess now many of the other fayth had had the same effect on her. He really didn’t like it, what these fayth were doing to her. And, as always, she didn’t feel any need to complain about it. She was always so selfless.

Selfless until the end.

“You play the keyboard?”

“Hm?” Shuyin responded, having been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Lenne reenter the room. Turning over once again, he spotted her studying his keyboard where it was haphazardly shoved up against the wall, running her fingers gently over the keys. “Oh. Yeah. Just something to keep me busy. You know, ‘til blitz starts up again.”

 

“Ah,” she said, pressing down on a few of the keys at random and letting the resulting sound ring through the apartment. “Do you think I could hear you play?”

“I don’t think you want to,” he responded, chuckling at his own ineptitude. “I’m not very good.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she encouraged. Turning, she walked over and took a seat beside him, the bed dipping slightly from their combined weight. “I’m sure it would still be nice to hear,” she said, smiling cheerfully. “If you want to, I mean.”

Humming in contemplation, he let his head bob back onto the comforter, his half-closed eyes trained upon the ceiling. “All right,” he said with only a bit of reluctance now, languidly sliding to his feet and heading toward the keyboard. “I can’t promise your ears won’t bleed though.”

“Well, I live for the risk,” she countered playfully, sliding her boots off, pulling her legs up onto the bed with her, and resting her chin upon them.

“Oh yes,” he said as he sat down. “You’re quite the dare-devil.” Fiercely batting away the unpleasant thoughts that such an assertion brought, he thumbed through his practice book, taking great care to keep the page containing Vegnagun’s Ballad concealed.

Nervously, he wondered if there was even another song he _could_ play. Since he’d learned the basics of key navigation and reading notes, he hadn’t so much as glanced at anything else besides the ballad. Now, the more he looked, the less confident he became that he’d actually be able to play anything well enough to be convincing.

Unfortunately, with Lenne’s eyes trained upon him, he hardly felt that he had a choice in the matter. So, resigning to the idea that he probably wasn’t going to find a song that he could by some miracle play well, he abruptly stopped on a random page before setting the book in front of him to reach the keys. After briefly glancing over his shoulder at Lenne (who was still watching him expectantly, chin propped up on her knees), he turned back to the music and, after one last deep breath as a means of encouragement, started to play.

It took only a moment or two for him to hit a wrong note. Wincing as an F sharp rang out in place of the E sharp that was displayed in the music, he inclined his head a bit to catch another glimpse of Lenne out of the corner of his eye. Though he had expected some sign that she had noticed his slip—muscles tensing up, a twitch of her brow, eyes wandering away to avoid witnessing such embarrassment—he found none. Instead, she merely continued to watch him, leaning forward some now in expectation.

Quickly, he turned back to the keyboard and resumed the song. It was a rather nice song, he realized about a minute or so in. That is, it would have been, had it not been repeatedly blighted by his clumsy playing. However, though Shuyin was sure that she noticed them (her being as well acquainted with instrumentals as she was and the errors being so glaringly obvious), not once did Lenne stop him to point it out. So, he continued on with the song, which he soon noticed was agonizingly long in addition to being well composed. G sharp, A sharp, B, (another botched note, a flinch). B and G sharp at once, F sharp, C sharp, F sharp, F sharp, F sharp . . .

Then, stalling for a moment as he flipped to the last page of music, he heard another sound, one much quieter than the keyboard’s dominating chime. It was a soft hum, one that matched the tune of the instrument’s dying reverberations almost perfectly.

Glancing over his shoulder to investigate the source, his eyes fell instinctually upon Lenne. She remained as still has she had been when he’d started playing, though her posture displayed a few subtle changes that hit him almost immediately. Unlike before, when she sat straight and at-attention, she was now slouching over her knees, her entire body as tranquil as standing water after a rainstorm. Her face was equally serene; eyes closed with a soft smile adorning her lips. For the first time in quite a while, she seemed truly at peace, no troubling thoughts of duty or secrets or disturbing information plaguing her mind. Something about the look of her right then was enrapturing, and just the thought that he might have had some effect in making her as she was was enough to knot his stomach.

At some point, his fingers ceased in their playing, obviously somewhat hampered by the absence of his mind from the task. The resulting few seconds of silence apparently more jarring than all the wrong notes that he had played in the past few minutes, Lenne stirred, a fleeting look of befuddlement on her face. “Oh, sorry,” she said, rubbing an eye and smiling sheepishly at him. “Was I being too loud? I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“No, no you weren’t,” he assured after a few moments, once his wits had returned to him. “It’s actually really nice. I haven’t heard you sing in a long time.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she acknowledged, nodding. “But I _am_ going to be having another concert soon.”

“Really? About time they scheduled you again.”

“I’m grateful that they did. I really miss singing for a crowd. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all,” she said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. With a chuckle, she added, “You never know. Maybe saving up my voice for so long will help me sing better.”

“But you couldn’t resist singing some for me?” he asked with a smile.

“I wasn’t singing,” she pointed out jokingly, waving a finger at him. “Just humming.”

“Close enough.”

Smiling and shaking her head, she leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee and her chin in the corresponding palm. “You should keep playing,” she urged, nodding toward the keyboard, where one of his hands still idly sat. “It didn’t sound like you finished the song.”

“Only if you keep singing,” he replied before quickly adding, “Sorry, ‘humming,’” complete with a quotation mark hand gesture. “If you do it loud enough, you might be able to cover up my screw ups.”

“What screw ups?” she asked, tilting her head a bit at him and smiling sweetly. “I didn’t hear any.”

A soft chortle and knowing glance as his response, Shuyin turned back to the keyboard, quickly scanning the music sheet in order to reorient himself. After briefly muttering how he would try to find an easier song to play next, he adjusted his fingers to their correct positions, and started playing once again.

\---

At its very least, the day had been a very strenuous one for Lenne. Though the fayth at the northeastern temple was thankfully more straightforward and patient than the one at the north, attaining the aeon from it had still been a arduous task, and had unfortunately taken more out of her than she thought it would. Even with her prior knowledge of how the difficulty of the attainment increased with the power of the aeon, she still wasn’t prepared for just how draining the task was going to be. By the time she had emerged, nearly all of her strength had been sapped away, leaving her with only the tiniest reserve, as well as an awful headache. Even a half-hour later, when she was finally far from the temple and was able to rest, she temples still throbbed horribly, each tremor of theirs sending a new rush of pain through her head.

 

Trust Shuyin to fix all that. Where no more than an hour before she had been a complete mess, his playing (as flawed as he saw it to be) had done quite a job of soothing her, her overall discomfort being washed away by the keyboard’s gentle chimes. In addition, their tranquil hum worked as a wonderful lullaby, leaving her feeling of warm, comfortable drowsiness, like taking a hot bath to the sound of driving rain outside.

 

As she listened, every once in a while presenting Shuyin with a few subtle (and, in some cases, not so subtle) compliments, the various songs he played continued to slowly coax her into an ever-sleepier state. Even as she did her best to stay conscious and sing along with the songs (as per Shuyin’s request), this soon enough became too much for her tired mind, forcing her to resign to simply swaying along with the melody. Even the music itself seemed to be working against her state of consciousness, their gentle reverberations through the floor working upon her like the rocking of a mother’s arms upon a child.

 

Regardless, she continued to press herself to stay awake, forcing her eyes open and her body straight when either began to descend a bit too far. She would just listen to one more song, she told herself. Just one more, and then it would be time for her to go. Then, one more became two more, and two more became three more, as the last of anything is wont to do. She only became fully aware of the passage of time when Shuyin paused in his playing and moved across the room, flicking on a softer light.

“Oh,” she said in surprise as she turned toward the window, finding the area beyond it to be black as ink.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t notice how dark it was getting out there,” she clarified, rubbing her eye, which had become blurry from disuse.

“It’s been getting dark for a while,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “How tired are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she lied, sitting up straight in an attempt to convince him. Unfortunately, the look on his face illustrated rather clearly that he saw right through her charade.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he teased, walking over and plopping down beside her.

“Because you’re too skeptical,” she responded, doing as she had done that morning and acting as if their proximity didn’t make her anxious in the least. Conceding only the slightest bit to her more indulgent side, she let one of her hands settle upon his shoulder as a smile spread across her lips. “You really need to learn to trust me more.”

“Once you stop making things up so other people will feel better, maybe I will,” he responded, pointing a finger mock-accusingly at her.

“I don’t!” she said, shaking her head. Taking hold of his hand, she curled the digit back into place, her stomach roiling a bit even as she did her best to look casual about it.

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, he replied, “Whatever you say.” Smiling keenly at her, he got to his feet and headed back to the keyboard to resume his playing with the same vitality (and dissatisfaction with himself) as before. In turn, she returned to her previous state of near-sleep.

After a while, even the music itself began to seem more like a distance echo than anything else, in one second sounding as if it were a croon in her ear, only to seem miles away in the next. Every now and then, Shuyin’s voice would bring her somewhat back to consciousness, mentioning to her the titles of some of the named songs only for her to forget most of them a moment or so later (though she did recall hearing something about light and water and remembering something). By then, the thought of simply flopping down upon Shuyin’s bed, curling up in his blankets, and falling asleep as he continued to play became more and more appealing.

“I should go,” she said finally, having very little trust in herself not to do exactly that. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Shuyin responded, his words laced with a bit of disappointment. “Good point.”

“Thanks for letting me stay so long,” she said as she groggily got to her feet, reaching her arms out above her head in a cat-like stretch. “I really had a good time.”

“Couldn’t have been that good,” he answered, pushing his chair out and getting to his feet. “Not when you had to listen to that,”—he gestured vaguely in the direction of the keyboard—“the entire time.”

“You really don’t give yourself enough credit,” she started, though she was interrupted halfway through by a yawn. Shutting her eyes, she rubbed one with the heel of her hand, trying to force herself to return to an attentive state.

“You know,” said Shuyin after a short pause. “You could stay the night if you liked. Like you said, it is pretty late.”

“No, that’s all right,” she answered sleepily, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she yawned again. “I’ve already imposed on you enough. Thank you, though.”

“You weren’t imposing,” he replied, and Lenne felt a small, disbelieving smile begin to turn the corners of her lips.

“All the same, thank you,” she said, finally looking up. Almost immediately after setting eyes upon him, her smile fell away, replaced by a look of surprise and concern. Though his voice had sounded casual enough when she was looking away, the look of him was something different entirely. He was gazing distantly toward the music book he’d been using, his eyes glazed over with thought. Beneath that, he looked incredibly crestfallen, the emotion translating into both his expression and his somewhat deflated stature.

“Shuyin?” she said, the surprise in her voice evident. Apparently startled by her voice’s intrusion in his thoughts, he looked up at her, blinking in surprise. As an afterthought, he quickly wiped the dejected look from his face, forcing a nonchalant expression into its place. However, Lenne could still see traces of it lingering in his eyes, even as hard as he tried to hide it. “Are you all right?” she asked, walking up to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, a bit too hastily to be believable. “I’m just fine. Why?”

Unconvinced by this feeble attempt at assuring her, she took another step forward, ducking a bit to bypass the slight incline of his head and see his face. “Shuyin, are you okay?” she asked, brushing a bit of his bangs away from his eyes as to better see them.

“Yeah,” he said, carefully putting a hand over hers to move it away from his face (and, despite the situation, her stomach still felt like it was beginning to twist itself into a cord at the touch). Slowly, his gaze dropped to the floor, drifting about aimlessly. “I was just—I was just thinking about, you and the fayth and . . . you just seemed so put out today and . . . you really don’t have to do that to yourself, you know.”

With every word of his short, rambled discourse, Lenne felt her heard sink a little further in her chest. She’d thought they’d been done with this subject weeks ago, after he had tried to convince her for the second time, met her resistance once again, and then up and disappeared without a word. Sufficed to say, it was an incredibly unpleasant week for her, and she hardly wished to repeat it. Unfortunately, if Shuyin’s words were any indication, he was not so willing to cease discussing the topic as she.

“Yes I do, Shuyin,” she said plainly, her voice soft and poignant. Her fingers curling slightly, she looked at the floor as well, absently shifting about on her bare feet. “Please, let’s not talk about this anymore, all right?”

“But Lenne—”

“ _Please_ ,” she bleated, distraught. Bowing her head further, she clamped her eyes shut in an attempt to channel her distress. If only he knew how hard it was to tell him no. If only he knew how much harder it got every time he asked.

After a moment’s pause, probably due to being taken aback by her reaction, he shakily spoke. “Lenne,” he repeated. “I—I didn’t mean . . . I just . . .” She felt one of his hands hovering about her shoulder then, flinching about nervously before finally coming to rest near the downward curve of her arm. “Lenne, I . . .”

Slowly, she shook her head, gulping back her previous dismay (or at least trying to). “It’s all right,” she said, finally, lifting her head to look at him. “But, let’s not—”

Suddenly, he seemed a lot closer than he had been before. So close in fact, that her nose almost bumped into his when she looked up, leaving her blinking in confusion for a moment. When she fully regained her wits, however, she felt a pang of embarrassment shoot through her stomach, and her first reaction was to step back and restore an appropriate distance between them. However, in truth, the will to do so stopped with her instincts. The rest of her had less of a problem staying in such close proximity to him, as evidenced by her lack of ability to move.

Shuyin was apparently going through the same rapid spat of thoughts as she was, if the look in his eyes was any indication. At first, it looked as if he might recoil, just as she had thought to do. Yet, after a moment, the initial shock of their awkward situation seemingly wore off in him, though the anxiety that replaced it wasn’t much better. However, there seemed to be the slightest bit of audacity in him too. This became plain when he let his eyes slide halfway shut, tilting his head to the side and leaning in a little bit more . . .

However, his reserve apparent kicked in then, for his eyes widened impressively and he quickly withdrew. Stepping back a few paces, he turned away from her, rubbing the back of head bashfully. “Uh . . . sorry,” he said, glancing down at the floor once again. “Got a little too into that. You know, never mind me. I’m being stupid. That’s what you get for running off an hour of sleep, right? You can go if you want. Don’t let me keep you.”

That reply was supposed to be funny, she supposed. However, she felt nothing of the sort, since none of the essential lightheartedness could be found in his voice or stance. In its place was uncertainty in such obvious quantities that Lenne had to turn away at first, staring at her hand as it twitched and curled into a fist at her side.

But as much as she’d been willing to before, she didn’t go. Instead, she looked back at him, reaching a hand out and attempting to say his name. The word died away in her throat, however, and the hand fell some with it. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, resting her still partially extended hand upon his shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Shuyin,” she finally managed to croak, receiving a hesitant, sideways glance in return. Doing her best to gulp back her ingrained caginess, she walked around to stand in front of him, her fingers dancing about his shoulder but never fully leaving it. Then, before the gall that she had built up left her completely, she took a step forward to lessen the gap between them, and pushed herself up on her toes.

During the second that the warm weight rested upon their lips, she groped about clumsily for the hand that hung at his side, though it found hers first. Even when the moment was over and she stood flat-footed once again, her hand was still tightly clasped in his, albeit a bit awkwardly.

The dejection that had only a moment before occupied his eyes had been replaced by shock, though rejection was blissfully absent. Slowly, he turned those eyes downward, glancing at his and her entwined hands as if the sight was utterly inconceivable to him. For lack of a better thing to do, she gently ran her thumb along his, feeling the dry, chapped skin along his knuckle.

“When I leave,” she said carefully, her own eyes trained upon their interwoven fingers, “don’t forget this, okay?”

His only response was to let his eyes slide shut, the skin around them wrinkling as he clamped them tightly closed. Then, he relaxed, letting his head bob some until his forehead gently came to rest against hers. “Let’s run away,” he murmured almost dreamily, though the shadows of melancholy and weakness could still be heard in his voice.

“We can’t,” Lenne answered, smiling sadly even though he couldn’t see it.

“Then let’s hide,” he responded in the same voice, carefully snaking an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer to him. “Just for a little while. I don’t . . . it probably won’t interrupt anything.” He paused for a moment, and then even more quietly, so much so that she had to strain to hear him, he whispered, “Please?”

“Sure,” she answered after a short pause, moving her hand from his shoulder and once again trying to brush a bit of hair from his eyes, though her own forehead trapped it in place this time. He really had a beautiful face, though she much preferred it when it held even the shadow of a smile. Anything was better the weariness that was there now. Maybe, she mused as she traced her fingertips along the side of his face, she could bring that smile back. “Yeah. We could do that.”


	12. Chapter 12

There was water running somewhere, Shuyin realized groggily as the sound rumbled in his ear. It was a relaxing sound, and he felt as if he were sinking into it where he lay, the familiar chilly sensation welcoming against his skin. Wrapped in that gentle roar was a clear, melodic voice, singing something he couldn’t quite hear but was nonetheless soothed by. To say the least, such tranquility was a welcome change from the stress that had been as constant as his heartbeat for the past few weeks. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to lay back and let the drone of the water and the ring of that voice engulf and fill him; whatever it took to make it last.

But the voice eventually faded away, sinking into the louder crash of the water, which also began to quiet. Soon enough, the soothing nature of the situation was gone as well, replaced with the uncomfortable sensation of sunlight baking his exposed shins.

Moaning sleepily, he slowly rubbed the corners of his eyes, coaxing them into opening only to have them assaulted by blazing sunshine. Throwing an arm over his face in a futile attempt to reinstate the comfortable darkness from before, he flipped onto his side, off a spring he hadn’t realized until now had been digging painfully into his back—his spine would probably have an impressive indentation in it now.

Even though he managed to save his eyes from the sun’s burning light, that was hardly enough to let him drift back to sleep, even as tired as he still was. Once again, the sun’s rays quickly got to work roasting his skin, and he realized that no matter the position he tried, they couldn’t be avoided. Grunting in resignation, he finally pulled himself upright, yawning as he rested his elbows against his knees and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

Though now it was much less distinct and relaxing than it had been before, the sound of running water from his dream remained, by now only a muffled hum and splash from behind the bathroom door. Instinctively, Shuyin growled in frustration, forcing himself to his feet and heading across the room with an incredibly irritated air. Yasuo again, he immediately concluded, as it had become an unfortunately frequent occurrence for the man to invite himself in and use Shuyin’s shower whenever his old, broken one decided to go on the fritz. It was starting to get incredibly annoying (not that it hadn’t started out that way, of course), especially when the strongest security measures that Shuyin had at his disposal were apparently failing him. How long had it been since he’d taken Yasuo off of his lock registry?

However, just as he was moving to open the door and metaphorically haul the other man over the coals, it opened from within, a hand quickly emerging and groping for the doorframe. A feminine, light-skinned hand, with thin, elegant fingers to which a few droplets of water still clung. Definitely _not_ Yasuo’s hand.

“Shuyin?” Lenne’s voice sounded from inside, her hand tapping against the doorframe in an apparent attempt to get his attention. “Shuyin? Are you awake?”

Blinking in astonishment, he slowly said, “Yes,” then almost immediately cleared his throat. He never knew he was a tenor. “Yes,” he repeated.

“Oh, uh, good morning,” she said, laughing awkwardly to mask her discomfiture. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Shuyin responded, though he could hardly make sense of what she said. His mind was currently too busy reeling to do much else, though it only contained one thought: Lenne was in the shower. Lenne was in _his_ shower. “You?”

“Pretty well, yes,” she responded with an equal amount of embarrassment. “Thank you.” After a short, uncomfortable pause, Lenne cleared her throat, her grip on the doorframe tightening somewhat. “Um, hey, this will sound a little strange I know, but my clothes are kind of dirty and . . . can I borrow some of yours until I can get these clean? I won’t need them for too long.”

And the tenor in him was back with a vengeance. “Sure,” he answered, again coughing awkwardly to recover his proper pitch. “Yeah, hold on a second.” Turning, he ran a hand through his hair, moving it carefully as if his head might cave in were he to put too much pressure on it. Now effectively jogged from his bleary state, the memories of the previous night became foremost in his mind. Her singing, her hand in his, her lips . . .

A violent jab of fright running through him, he swiftly leafed through his recollections of the rest of the night, dreading what he might find (or worse, what he wouldn’t be able to find). Thankfully, he couldn’t recall anything worth fretting about, and there were no missing parts to worry over. It was all there, though a bit blurry, and rather uneventful. In fact, there wasn’t much to it at all. Almost immediately after their somewhat awkward—yet still staggering—rendezvous, the two had uneasily wished each other goodnight, Shuyin retreating to the couch and Lenne to the bed, though it had taken some convincing on his part before she was willing to deprive him of it. That had been it, up until this interesting little escapade.

“They might not fit right,” he said, more to break the heavy silence than to actually inform her of said inconvenience. As he spoke, he finally made a point of orienting himself, and headed for the closet door next to the bathroom that, until then, he had been utterly ignoring.

“That’s fine,” she answered, holding her hand up and waving it a bit for visual effect. “It won’t matter.”

“Right,” he answered, quickly falling back into that uncomfortable silence as he pulled the door open, a few balled-up, wrinkled shirts falling out as he did so. At the same time, he was nearly smacked upside the head with Lenne’s staff, when it too haphazardly came tumbling out. However, he was able to catch it before it did him any bodily harm, and set it back in the closet, balancing it carefully to keep it from falling again. Then, disregarding the clothes at his feet for the moment, he started rummaging through the ones that had managed to stay on their hangers, searching for a clean shirt and pair of pants that were small enough not to fall right off of her (while subsequently quashing the mental images that created. Bad Shuyin. _Very_ bad Shuyin).

“Hey,” he heard Lenne say from off to his side, accompanied by the sound of nervous, drumming fingers. “Thanks for letting me stay over last night. You didn’t have to do that.”

Last night . . . “No problem,” he answered, though his words sounded distant as his mind was, for the most part, otherwise preoccupied.

Lenne was apparently entertaining the same train of thought as he was, for after the sound of her sucking air in through her teeth and slowly exhaling receded, she said, “Um, sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I—”

“No,” Shuyin interrupted hastily, knocking a sloppily hung shirt from its hanger and sending it tumbling into the metaphorical void in the bottom of the closet. “I didn’t. Really.” That was a blatant lie, of course, and he knew that she knew it. After all, it would take someone much denser than her not to notice the amount of times he stumbled while walking from the keyboard to the couch last night. “Don’t be sorry about it. I mean, I’m not. It was just—just . . .”

“Just what?” Lenne prodded gently, the door creaking as she pulled it open a bit to look at him.

“Aw, never mind,” he finished gracelessly, waving his hands about to dismiss the issue. Pushing past a few more shirts, he added, “I’m not making any sense.” Before she could say anything else (most likely in disagreement, as she was prone to do when he spoke of himself less than highly), he finally managed to extract a suitable pair of pants and a shirt from the mire that was his closet. “Here,” he said, leaning over and placing the clothes in her hand. “Think those will work?”

“Yeah,” she answered, though it wasn’t until a few seconds later that she pulled them inside and actually got to look at them. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Shuyin answered casually as he scooped up the clothes that had managed to escape from the closet’s acquisitive depths and unceremoniously tossed them back in. For a moment, the entire apartment was silent, apart from the sound of shifting cloth from both sides of the bathroom door. “So,” Shuyin started slowly, glancing up toward said door as he wandered back over to the couch and splayed out across it. “Hey, uh, were you singing this morning?”

“Oh,” she replied sheepishly. “Oh, um, you heard me?”

“Sort of. I was half asleep, so . . .”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I thought—”

“No,” he quickly interrupted. “No, you didn’t. Besides,” he glanced at the door, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t see her through it, “I like listening to you sing. You should do it more when I’m awake.”

A short, hummed laugh came from the other side of the door. “I’ll remember that.”

“Yeah,” Shuyin finished, and the silence was reinstated, a few metallic clicks from various buckles joining the shifting sounds of before. “Lenne?” he said after another moment.

“Yes?”

“Um, do you have to be home anytime soon?”

“Hm?” Lenne responded. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t have anything planned, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding despite her not being able to see it. “Hey, how ‘bout you just stick around here then? It’s been a while since we actually spent some time together.”

“It won’t interrupt anything?” Came her soft, perceptive reply after a moment of silence.

Trying to ignore the twinge of remembrance that ran through him (which, he realized, she was probably sharing with him), he shook his head. “Not on my end,” he answered, purposefully avoiding the question’s undertones. “Come on, it’ll be like a vacation. You’ve been working pretty hard lately, right?”

“Yeah. All right,” she said. Then as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

“You say that too much,” he replied. “It’s really no problem.”

“All the same, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

A chuckle preceding his reply, Shuyin said, “Don’t worry about that. I don’t think you could if you tried.”

The creak of scraping hinges met his ears in response, and he tilted his head back to see Lenne peeking from behind the now open door, the slightest hint of checkered cloth visible on her shoulder. “We’ll see,” she said, smiling amiably and appreciatively back at him.

\---

At first, Shuyin was sure Lenne wouldn’t even stay a second night. He expected that she would leave sometime in the afternoon, operating under the assumption that she was putting an unnecessary burden on him, as she was wont to claim. Even on a day like this, where the two did little more than laze about his apartment and talk in between short games of cards (during which Shuyin lost his training blitzball and just about every shoe he owned), he didn’t doubt that she would somehow come to the conclusion that she was imposing on him and straining her welcome.

 

Therefore, it came as a pleasant surprise when instead of excusing herself and heading for home when the sun began to set, Lenne took a moment to glance between the bed and the couch, and then said, “You know, you should sleep in the bed tonight. That couch can’t be that comfortable.” Though she quickly followed it up by asking for clarification on the status of her welcome, just knowing that she was willing to stay—that she _wanted_ to stay—was enough to turn the contents of Shuyin’s abdomen seemingly to nothing.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, for the life of him unable to keep a fairly silly looking grin from his face. Instead, he sufficed to hiding it from view. “You take the bed. I don’t mind the couch.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, glancing skeptically at the piece of furniture in question.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Though she still looked doubtful, Lenne slowly half-nodded, half-shrugged her acceptance of the situation. “If you say so,” she answered incredulously.

The next day wasn’t much different, excluding the regrettable absence of Lenne’s voice in his dreams. Upon forcing his eyes open and propping himself up, he caught sight of her, still asleep and thoroughly tangled in the comforter. She was apparently aware of this as well, however subconsciously, for in sleep her face was twisted into a look of utmost frustration. As cruel as it was, he couldn’t help but snicker at her misfortune. Aside from that, the second day of their pseudo-holiday was remarkably uneventful. That was, of course, until evening started to set in.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

Turning a little too swiftly from his futile task of probing the kitchen cabinets for something edible, Shuyin had to shield his eyes from the garish light of the setting sun. Blinking to clear his vision, he turned toward Lenne who, until a moment ago, had been leaning indolently across the back of the couch. Now, she was standing up straight, her head cocked slightly to the side, and her gaze directed at nothing in particular. Confused, Shuyin mirrored her, tilting his head to the side and letting his eyes drift as they would. He _did_ hear something, something so quiet that he wouldn’t have been able to pick it up had he still been sifting through the cabinets. His curiosity quipped, he turned toward the door where, though it was still somewhat muffled, the sound was at its loudest. Pushing it open and poking his head out, he directed his gaze down to the walkway carpet, eyes narrowed as if such might help him focus on the sound.

It was music, he realized after a moment. A gentle tune carrying over the breeze, dominated by the loud, lazy pluck of a guitar. Stepping fully from the apartment and leaning over the railing, Shuyin searched the street below, looking for the source of the music in the dim light. However, from where he stood, he could only see people bustling about as usual, for the most part impervious to the sound.

“I heard there was a show going on today,” said Lenne, coming up beside Shuyin and glancing around a bit herself. Just as incapable of seeing where the music was coming from as Shuyin, she resigned to merely tilting her head to the side, shutting her eyes as she concentrated on the faint noise. “I think it’s that amateur band from B-North.” Then, with a confident nod, she added, “Yeah, it sounds like them.”

“Are they any good?” Shuyin asked, cupping his hands behind his ears in what he realized was a futile and rather ridiculous looking display.

“I think so,” answered Lenne, tapping her foot to the faint beat. “But don’t take my word for it. Listen for yourself.”

“Easier said than done.” Regardless, he folded his arms over the railing and laid his head on them, trying to focus on the music and ignore the city’s other random, constant noises. There was quite a bit of screaming going on to, mostly of the high-pitched, feminine variety. Despite that, the actual music was still decent. The vocalist was all right, though Shuyin had a hard time deciphering whatever it was that he was trying to say. The drummer was pretty good too, though the guitar overpowered them more often than not. Really, the song was nothing breathtaking or particularly noteworthy, but all right in the end.

Suddenly, his concentration was broken by a much louder, more distinct sound at his side, and a bit of movement in the corner of his eye. Turning, he spotted Lenne, a joyful smile on her face as she danced ecstatically about the walkway, swaying her hips, stepping rapidly, and ducking behind her arms only to throw them out with vigor. All in all, she looked rather ridiculous.

Catching Shuyin’s eye, instead of abruptly ending her dance and withdrawing with a few sheepish mutters like most people would do, Lenne smiled even more brightly than before, bobbing some and brushing a few wild strands of hair from her eyes. “Hey, come here,” she said, gently taking him by the forearm and pulling him from the railing. “Dance with me.”

“Oh no,” Shuyin responded, shaking his head decisively and waving the hand that hadn’t been taken hostage by Lenne. “I can’t dance. Two left feet.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Lenne responded, jostling his arm a bit. “I’m the only one here to see.”

“And that makes things _less_ embarrassing?”

“Oh, come on. What am I going to do?”

“Be better than me.”

“Don’t say that. You’d do just fine. Here, I’ll show you.” Sliding her fingers along his forearm until she reached his hand, she grasped it tightly and held it up. “They’ve even started a slower song. It’ll be easy.” She was right, of course. The music had slowed significantly from the supercharged, guitar-smashing beat at which it had been moving before.

“All right,” she said, taking a few steps back so that their arms stretched into a taut line. “We’ll start slow, okay? ”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Shuyin replied, trying to sound casual and keep the relief out of his voice. After all, adding to the fact that he would embarrass himself trying to dance to a fast song, the walkway they were standing on wasn’t exactly suited for such an endeavor. Frankly, he had no desire to send them both spinning over the railing in an attempt to keep up.

Moving with a sort of gradualness and precision that a Tonberry would envy, Lenne stepped forward, twirling into the hollow that his arm created so slowly that her skirt didn’t even flutter. Pausing with her back turned to him, she glanced over her shoulder, and instructed, “Now, you put your hand against my back—go ahead.” Nodding, he followed her directions, placing his hand between her shoulder blades in what he hoped was the correct place. “And that pushes me back out,” she finished, spinning in reverse just as slowly as before until the two were in their initial position. “And that’s the first part, not too hard, right?”

“No, but you’re taking it easy on me.”

“Well, you have to start somewhere. You can’t expect to be an expert that quick. Anyway, ready for the next part?”

And so they continued, Lenne counting the steps indistinctly under her breath and slowly guiding him through them, yet still pretending that he was leading. It really wasn’t that difficult of a dance; just a couple of simple twirls and a hand switch toward the end (of course, Lenne quickly clarified that what she was teaching him was only the second part of the dance, as they would need more room to perform the first).

By now, Shuyin was completely oblivious to whether the same song was playing, or how many had gone by since the first had ended. He was too absorbed in the bliss of the moment to care: between the brief little touches that the dance required, the slip-ups that had them bumping into each other for roughly a second and laughing for ten, and just being near her, he suddenly didn’t find the music all that important anymore.

As she once again spun from his arms, her hand still fixed securely in his, he abruptly tugged her back to him, the continuously practiced maneuver ending with the two bumping heads rather gracelessly. Yelping in surprise, Shuyin swiftly slapped a hand to his forehead, due more to reflex than to any actual pain. Simultaneously, Lenne did the same, as if the two were expertly coordinated even during their screw-ups. A moment of confused silence passed, the two staring rather dumbly at each other, before Lenne burst into a fit giggles. “Sorry, sorry,” she said in between snickers. “I guess I got a little caught up. I’ll go slower next time.”

“Naw, wasn’t your fault,” Shuyin argued, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t still at his forehead. “My bad.”

“How about it’s both our faults?” Lenne suggested, reaching up and sliding her fingers beneath his palm to gently feel the bump beginning to grow on his forehead. Ducking beneath her arm and smiling amiably at him, she added, “We did both take damage for it.”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, any witty response suddenly lost. Slowly, he closed his fingers around hers in a loose hold, a gesture that could very well be taken as an accident if it was unwelcome. However, instead of questioning him over it or pulling her hand away, her only reaction was to smile even wider.

“Hey,” she said after a moment, leaning in a bit further unconsciously. “How about we go in? It’s getting kind of cold out here.” Glancing about, Shuyin noticed for the first time that the sun had completely set, and the cities millions of artificial lights had already moved in to take its place. In addition, just as Lenne said, it was starting to get cold, and he could feel gooseflesh beginning to spread across his arms and the bare parts of his legs. “Besides,” she added, pulling away from him and gesturing off over the railing. “Sounds like the show is over.”

Blinking in surprise, Shuyin tilted his head and listened intently, eyes narrowed in concentration. Sure enough, no matter how much he strained, all he could hear was the usual sounds of the city: a few trivial announcements coming through the intercoms, the thump of some bass-heavy techno from one of the various night clubs nearby, and occasionally a shout sounding above the other million voices that filled up the remaining silence like sand in a jar of rocks. Not even the faintest strum of a guitar met his ears. “How long’s it been over?” he asked curiously, shocked that he had somehow missed its absence. Sure, he hadn’t been paying much attention, but not even realizing there wasn’t any music at all was a bit of a stretch.

“Um,” Lenne hummed, rubbing her head seemingly to jog her memory. “I’m . . . not sure,” she finished sheepishly.

“So, we were dancing to no music?” Shuyin concluded.

“That’s what it looks like,” she said, shrugging and laughing a bit at their silliness. “I guess we were having too much fun.”

“Yeah,” he replied, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of the one adorning hers, and at the declaration that he hadn’t been the only one having too much fun. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with Lenne. Even though he’d gotten rather good at telling her real smiles from her fake ones, sometimes he just couldn’t be sure whether she was actually happy, or just putting on a show for him. Hearing her say that, and seeing that wide, genuine smile turning her lips, made the whole affair that much better. “I guess we were.”

\---

“Shuyin?”

“Yeah?”

“This is the third night in a row you’ve slept on the couch. You should sleep here tonight,” Lenne said, turning onto her stomach and gesturing to the somewhat messy bed on which she was currently lying. “I know I’ve said this before, but that _really_ doesn’t look comfortable.”

Pausing in his nearly ferocious punching of one of the couch cushions in an attempt to fluff it up, Shuyin shook his head casually. “Aw, it’s all right,” he answered, setting the cushion back in place and lying down on the now slightly less flat couch. “You’re the guest here, right?”

“Yeah,” Lenne answered carefully, picking at a blanket that was beginning to press an interesting indentation into her side. “But still, that doesn’t mean _you_ have to be uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Shuyin responded, grinding the heel of his hand into what was apparently a rather stubborn lump in the cushion near his ribs. Turning a smile her way, he said, “You should have seen the cots we got to sleep on when me and the team went out on weeklong blitz training sessions. Those things were about as big as toothpicks. Plus, there isn’t a whole cabin-load of sweaty, snoring blitzball players to deal with here. Nirui, I swear, she could wake up people back on land. Compared to that, this thing’s like sleeping in Yevon’s bed.”

“Well, I guess,” Lenne finally conceded reluctantly, trying to conceal her disappointment. Despite what Shuyin thought, her intention hadn’t been to switch with him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t particularly good at picking up on subtleties, and it didn’t help that her timidity kept her from being any more straightforward. Needless to say, she was beginning to get frustrated with what really was a simple and rather silly dilemma.

“‘Night,” Shuyin murmured, stifling an impressive yawn and rubbing his eyes before clumsily turning onto his other side. Returning the sentiment, Lenne sat up and snatched the pillow from the opposite side of the bed and laid it down, resting her head on it with a groan. Curling up in the unkempt blankets, she willed herself to put off thinking about her little predicament, at least until tomorrow. If she stopped to worry over it now, she’d never get any sleep.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t stem the rebellious current of thoughts that engulfed her mind, and the aforementioned sleep was effectively made impossible. Even the blankets seemed to be working against her attempts at slumber: they smelled just like him.

With a long, resigned sigh, Lenne flipped over on her back, eyes fixed on a streak of light that had managed to bypass Shuyin’s curtains. It was frustrating, that her timidity had become so much of a hindrance.

No, not timidity, she reminded herself. She was not a timid person. Her concerts were proof enough of that. Nervousness was a better word. Even better than that: fear of rejection. After all, she reminded herself, just working up the nerve to kiss him had been harder on her than some of the Fayth—even proud Fenrir and rambunctious Moomba—for just that reason.

But then again, hadn’t he already accepted her? Hadn’t he invited her into his home with indefinite welcome? Didn’t he shiver beneath her fingers when she touched him? Hadn’t he held her hand? Hadn’t he wanted her kiss?

Flipping back onto her stomach, Lenne buried her head in the pillow, sighing heavily into the cloth. This was _so_ frustrating.

Suddenly, a loud bout of mumbling broke through her thoughts, and she swore she would have jumped clean off the bed had the blankets not had her so tightly confined. Blinking in surprise, she glanced off toward the couch, at the only possible source of the noise.

“Shuyin?” she muttered cautiously, leaning in some as if that would help him hear her. However, the only reply she received was a few slow, heavy breaths. Leaning forward a bit more, she watched incredulously for any delayed motion from him. He couldn’t already be asleep, could he? After all, he’d only just wished her goodnight a few minutes before. He couldn’t have been _that_ tired.

After untangling herself from the blankets as quietly as possible, she slid from the bed and tiptoed the three or so feet to the couch, mentally cursing his wood floor the whole way. Leaning over him, she squinted, trying to see his face by the minimal light that trickled in through the window. “Shuyin,” she whispered, half-expecting his eyes to snap open at the almost non-existent noise and thus put her in an overwhelmingly embarrassing position. However, no such reaction came. In fact, she got no reaction at all, save for the same breathing that had served as his reply before. So, he _was_ asleep. Well, that solved that.

However, even though that question had been effectively answered and she should have been getting back to bed herself, she couldn’t muster up the will to move. Instead, she continued to watch him, waiting as her eyes began to adjust more fully. She felt strange and a little guilty about it, like she was some sort of voyeur imposing on his privacy and personal space. Yet, somehow, she couldn’t help herself. He looked so peaceful, his brow free of creases and a faint smile on his lips. It’d been a long time since she’d seen him so calm and happy. Ever since she’d told him about her imminent departure, he’d seemed so stressed and upset and completely lost. She hated seeing him like that, and sometimes she wished she hadn’t told him at all. Maybe, for just a little while longer, she could have kept him from degenerating into the mess of anger and helplessness that he had become these past few weeks.

Gently, she brushed her fingers across his forehead. It was a bit awkward, given the small space between him and the back of the couch that she had to work with, but it didn’t matter. She just wanted to touch him, be near him. After all, she reminded herself, she didn’t have much time left to do it.

Sighing heavily at that thought, she pulled her hand back, staring at it and stretching her fingers absently. She _really_ needed to get to bed, as much as she disliked the thought. Glancing at Shuyin again, she jokingly entertained the idea of simply picking him up and carrying him back to bed with her. Hardly the most romantic gesture, but it’d get the point across. Never mind that he was almost entirely made of muscle, and that she would probably collapse before carrying him more than a few inches. She could always drag him, she supposed, though that would most certainly wake him up, and that would be all kinds of awkward. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought, if for no other reason than it was completely ridiculous.

Then, just as she was finally about to resign to going back to the bed and trying to force herself to some semblance of sleep, she paused, glancing at the couch itself as well as the man lying on it. Though she hadn’t paid it any attention before, she was suddenly aware of an obvious, yet very thin bit of space between Shuyin and the edge of the couch. A thin bit of space that could be made wider, were he to be nudged toward the back of the couch a little more. Maybe—and suddenly, that anxiety was upon her with ferocity, her stomach beginning to twist itself into a knot at the idea. However, unlike last night, she forced it back, pushing it into the corner of her mind where she could, for the most part, ignore it.

Maybe, she resumed, just enough for another body.

\---

“Are you sure you’re head’s okay?”

“Positive. See? It wasn’t that bad. Just five minutes with an icepack fixed it right up.”

“Yeah, but—” Shuyin started, looking shamefaced. Though he didn’t exactly know how waking up next to the girl you loved was supposed to go, he was pretty sure that knocking her down and nearly cracking her head on the floor wasn’t anywhere close to right.

“It’s okay, really,” she interrupted, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “You didn’t know I was there. That’s _my_ fault. I probably would have done the same thing.”

Pausing briefly in his brooding, Shuyin turned an incredulous eye on her and briefly scanned her frame, which was, by all accounts, quite a bit smaller than his. Taking the hint, Lenne quickly amended, “Well, I might not have been able to actually knock you down, but . . . if _you_ were hanging over the edge, I could have—never mind. Anyway, don’t worry about it, okay?”

“All right,” Shuyin replied, though hardly with the fervor he expected she wanted.

Obviously picking up on this lack of enthusiasm rather quickly, Lenne sighed and laced her fingers together, craning her neck to gaze up at the sky.“Do you think it’s going to rain again?”

“It might,” Shuyin answered vaguely, also lifting his gaze. The sky hadn’t changed much from what it had looked like when they’d left the apartment. It was still a swirling gray mass of clouds from horizon to horizon. “Probably not for a while though.” Glancing back at her and smirking, he added, “Did you think they were just gonna go away?”

“A little,” she admitted, rubbing her head in a discomfited manner. “I didn’t really see how bad it was.”

“Well, it’s not _bad_. Kind of a good thing in disguise.” He gestured about at the beach, which was a bit dreary in correspondence with the sky, and utterly empty. “This place is always packed when it’s sunny. I don’t even come down here anymore on nice days.”

“Never?”

“Never. It isn’t worth it. You can’t even swim there are so many people.”

“That’s why you go out to sea for blitzball training?” Lenne inferred, pausing and squatting down to poke at the broken remains of a shell.

“Yep,” Shuyin confirmed, glancing out at the sea. “Out past the piers, all those buildings—” he squinted, pointing out beyond the nearby jetty for emphasis, “—out in the open sea, it’s the best feeling in the world. Turn the other way, and it’s just water as far as the eye can see. A whole ocean between you and all life’s hassles. Nothing to do but enjoy yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound like training,” Lenne pointed out humorously, coming up to stand beside him. “That sounds like goofing off.”

“Um . . .” Shuyin said, the arm he was gesturing with slumping. “Er . . . don’t tell Nirui about that.” This quickly prompted a short bout of laughter from her, and consequently, a sheepish grin from him.

“That sounds like fun,” she finally agreed, brushing a few uncooperative strands of hair from her eyes.

“It is. How about I take you sometime?”

“Take me?”

“Yeah,” Shuyin said, nodding vigorously. “I mean, Nirui’s been working at getting us back out there to practice some more. She never gives up, and those guys are going to crack eventually. So, when that happens, you should come with us.”

“Do you think I’d be allowed?” Lenne asked, sounding doubtful. “After all, I’m not part of the team.”

“Aw, that wouldn’t matter,” he assured, glancing off at the ocean again. “I mean, Nirui might put up a fight, but everyone else would love you, so she’d end up giving in in the end.”

“But, um . . .” Lenne murmured shyly. “What if I couldn’t swim?”

After a short, stunned pause, Shuyin whipped around so sharply that he had to throw his arms out to keep himself from face-planting into the cold, dry sand at his feet. “You can’t swim?”

Slowly, she looked away, scratching the bridge of her nose and smiling sheepishly. “I _can_ , just . . . not very well.”

Though he knew it would hardly help her confidence, Shuyin couldn’t help but laugh at her expense. “Really?” he asked, his tone divided almost equally between disbelief and humor. Frankly, the idea of not being able to swim was one he just couldn’t comprehend.

“Really,” she responded, brushing her hair back once again as the wind started to pick up.

“Well,” he started awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. Then, with much more enthusiasm, he added, “Not a problem. I’ll teach you how.”

“You would?”

“I _will_ ,” he corrected before plopping down on the sand and gesturing widely at the sea. However, the comment he was going to make about their being plenty of ocean at their disposal was cut short by a loud crack, as if someone had just simultaneously slammed down on a drum and snapped a chunk of wood right in his ear. After his and Lenne’s almost concurrent jerk of fright, he glanced up at the sky, which had grown more sinister looking since he had last checked. “Uh oh,” he managed to say, right before a drop of water splashed unceremoniously in his eye. As if that one tiny drop were the signal to open up the floodgates, another four drops came in quick succession, then seven, then another five, and soon enough it was as bad as if he and Lenne had been standing beneath a blitz sphere just when it had happened to burst.

“So much for it raining later,” Lenne called out over the pounding of raindrops against the sand. Her arms were splayed haphazardly over her head in an attempt to keep herself dry, though it was doing her very little good.

“Um . . . yeah, sorry about that,” Shuyin responded. Honestly, it hadn’t looked like it was going to rain. Damn nature, playing tricks on him.

They should’ve been getting back to his apartment, he knew. It wouldn’t be long until the rain got worse, and then the wind would pick up, the waves would get more and more powerful until they swallowed the entire beach (or at least most of it), and this was definitely not where he wanted to be when that happened. Yet, for just a moment, he couldn’t help but lie back against the sand, the raindrops splashing against his face and the waves pounding in his ears.

How long had he gone without hearing that sound? He guessed it had been about a month now, ever since that last, unfortunately short blitzball practice. It’d been a pain then, being out at sea for what really was a useless bit of training, but now he missed it dearly. This was the closest he had been to the sound of the ocean and the feel of it around him since then, and even though he knew he had to get going before the weather got much worse, this just felt so _good_.

However, he had Lenne to worry about, and as much as he wanted to stay, putting her in harm’s way just wasn’t an option.

“You sure seem comfortable,” he heard, and opened his eyes to see the object of his deliberations leaning over him, an amused smile on her face and one of her eyebrows arched curiously. Apparently, she’d long given up her effort to keep dry, and was by now thoroughly soaked (and as hard as Shuyin tried to be chivalrous, he couldn’t help but notice the way her clothes formed to her as a result; was it really that cold out here?). Her hair—which was no longer the well-kept mane that he knew so well, but was instead a rather stringy tangle of fibers—hung down in her eyes in liberal chunks, and somehow, she’d managed to coat a decent amount of it with sand. There was a bit on her face too, dusting her cheek and forehead. Overall, she was a mess, and rightfully looked like she had almost been drowned.

And she was still gorgeous.

“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “Even you’ll drown in this rain.”

“Yeah,” Shuyin admitted, taking her hand (though, he was sure that if he was put to the test, he’d somehow manage to survive my sheer force of will). As she pulled him to his feet, that sweet smile was still on her face, even as the steadily worsening rain continued to pound relentlessly down on her. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of another girl that would do that; smile even when the world was coming down on her like there was no tomorrow. A girl who would smile in the face of his oversights and suggestions, his weird little delight at lying around in a torrential rain, his keeping her out here even though she was getting absolutely drenched, and she was still _so pretty_.

When he was on his feet, his hand suddenly found the back of her head, his fingers tangling themselves in her soaked hair. In the next instance, his eyes were shut, and she was pulled to him just as tightly as his lips were pressed to hers. A sharp, nasally intact of breath was the only reaction he received from her, as the brevity of the kiss didn’t leave time for much else. After a scant few moments, Shuyin pulled back, licking his lips and feeling as if he were about to choke on his heart.

As he looked at her, he realized that the smile that had so enthralled him a moment before was gone, a look of utmost surprise upon her face instead. However, said absence was brief, and the next moment she was smiling once again, a bit of color that was barely noticeable through the rain painting her cheeks. “This probably isn’t the best place for that,” she said humorously. “Let’s go.” Grabbing his hand, she turned and started sprinting up along the shore, pulling him with her until he finally found his feet and followed of his own accord.

Then, suddenly, Shuyin was reminded of another time very similar to this one; another time when she had been soaked to the bone but was still smiling and running to avoid the rain, even though it didn’t really matter anymore. However, there were two subtle differences between then and now that he couldn’t help but grin at: her smile was real, and she was holding his hand.

\---

“So, you’re already living together? Geez, you two sure move fast.”

“Oh, no, we don’t—we don’t live together yet. Shuyin’s just letting me stay over for a few days.”

“Ah, I see. And the clothes and bed sharing?”

“Uh well, we were out yesterday, and it was raining and I—um. . .”

A hearty laugh. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I think it’s good you two finally figured it out.”

“Was it really obvious?”

“Well, _he_ wasn’t being too discrete about it, that’s for sure. But maybe it was just around me. You seem too smart not to notice that kind of thing.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hm.”

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I should probably change. My clothes should be dry by now. Can you wait a second?”

“Sure, no problem.” A quick bout of silence. “So, uh . . . do you know when he bought the keyboard?”

“No actually. I was wondering if you—”

After that, the voices faded away, lost in the fen of Shuyin’s barely awake mind. Sighing some, he stretched his arms out arbitrarily, feeling about for Lenne.

As awkward as it had been at first (his right arm had managed to fall asleep at least three times before they found a position that worked, and more than once he’d ended up lying on her hair), sharing a bed with her had been nonetheless enjoyable. Frankly, with her head tucked beneath his chin and one of her legs thrown over his hip, it’d been impossible to fall asleep without a smile on his face.

However, when he reached out for her, she was nowhere to be found. A low, gurgling groan reverberating in his throat, he tried to lean over and extend his arms a little bit more, but found that his body was too heavy for the task. Reluctantly, he grew still once again, sluggishly letting his arms rest where they were, not bothering to pull them back to him. Then, as his mind slowly began to resign its state of relaxation and switch to one of vigilance, the voices from before began to return. Though he’d taken them for the remnants of a dream the first time he heard them, they grew clearer as he stirred, not fainter as dreams tended to do. So then, who was talking?

“—flats down in D-South. They’re about, oh, what? Six, seven miles from the coastline? And they’re all kind of scrunched together. Not the best place, but . . .” That voice seemed vaguely familiar, though his tired brain couldn’t quite place a face to it yet.

“Oh, I know that place,” said the second voice, a smooth alto that his further-stirred mind recognized as Lenne. “I almost moved in there when I was looking for an apartment.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t, trust me,” said the first, still nameless yet familiar. “It’s definitely not the place to be if you can help it. Everything’s always breaking. Heat and hot water’s been off for somewhere near two weeks now. Good thing it’s still warm out, right?” Then, in a flash, the recognition Shuyin had been missing hit him like a brick to the face. Almost falling out of bed, he scrambled to see it he was right while praying to the contrary. It couldn’t be him. The locks wouldn’t work for him; Shuyin had made sure of that. It couldn’t be—

And then it was, and Shuyin fell back to the mattress with an almighty groan.

“Nice to see you too, Shuyin,” Yasuo laughed from where he was draped across the right half of the couch, smiling that annoying, catlike smile of his. Beside him, occupying the other half the couch, was Lenne, staring at Shuyin in confusion.

“What’s wrong Shuyin?” she asked, standing up and leaning over to see him past the blankets.

“It’s too early in the morning for _him_ ,” Shuyin moaned, waving a hand wearily in Yasuo’s general direction.

“He knows, too,” Shuyin heard Yasuo say, the smirk as evident in the man’s voice as it had been upon his face. “He’s woken up next to me more than once.” This time, Shuyin actually did fall out of bed, though this time in utter horror instead of shock.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Yasuo clarified, though Shuyin quickly saw it was for Lenne’s benefit instead of his. Her face was twisted into a look of utmost shock, though it was only a moment or two before relief and understanding took its place. “Geez, Lenne,” Yasuo said, waving his hand toward her casually and smiling reassuringly. “You need a sense of humor.”

“It’s not her fault your jokes suck,” Shuyin growled as he unraveled himself from the blankets and got to his feet.

“Somebody’s grumpy,” Yasuo responded, glancing off somewhere behind the couch. “Maybe I’ll just keep talking to Lenne. She’s _much_ nicer than you. She actually opens the door when I knock.”

Refusing to respond to that assertion (mostly because he didn’t feel like agreeing with Yasuo right now), he instead plopped back down on the bed, glancing up at Lenne. “He hasn’t been bugging you too much, has he?” he asked, hoping it hadn’t been very long since Yasuo had shown up. He was afraid that too much exposure to Yasuo after just meeting him might send her into some sort of coma.

“No, he wasn’t bugging me at all,” Lenne assured, waving a hand to refute the claim.

“Yeah Shuyin,” Yasuo added, leaning against the arm of the couch and resting his chin in his palm. “I was just telling Lenne some embarrassing stories about you. Oh!” Snapping his fingers in realization, Yasuo turned toward Lenne, any interest in Shuyin immediately forgotten. “I didn’t tell you about what happened on his eighteenth birthday yet. So, sweet little Shuyin here had never had a drink in his life right? So—”

In the next instance, Shuyin had all but vanished from his spot on the bed, and was instead right behind Yasuo, his hand clamped firmly over the man’s mouth while the color rapidly drained from his own face. “You swore you’d never tell anyone about that!” Shuyin all but whined, not sounding nearly as threatening as he’d hoped he would.

“But it’s funny!” Yasuo argued, his voice a bit muffled as he pulled Shuyin’s hand away.

“Some friend you are!” Shuyin barked, quickly slapping his other hand over Yasuo’s mouth in place of his other, captive hand.

“You’re no fun,” Yasuo whined before prying that hand off as well and holding it fast. Leaning forward and ignoring Shuyin’s flailing attempts to free his hands, he looked back at Lenne, and started, “So, we were up in B-North right, and—”

“ _Shut up_!” Shuyin growled, throwing his still confined hands in front of Yasuo’s face to silence him.

“Oh, come on, Shuyin,” Yasuo ribbed. “You should want to tell this story. Do you know how good it makes you look? That one guy even gave you his card.”

“How about we tell some interesting little stories about you instead, huh? We’ll only be at this for a couple of weeks!”

“But it’s more fun telling stories about you! You get all worked up over it. _I_ regret nothing.”

“Pfft. That’s not what she said at practice the next day.”

“. . .Oh Shuyin, that’s low. You crush my fragile little heart.”

“Oh poor, little, innocent Yasuo, right?”

“That’s what I was going for, yes.”

“Well, you’re bad at it!”

His entire attention focused on his effort to shut Yasuo up as quickly and effectively as possible, it was a moment before Shuyin noticed the quiet tittering noise coming from the other side of the small room. However, by the time he did notice it, it had morphed from a titter to almost a belly laugh. Blinking in surprise at the distraction, he paused in his skirmish with Yasuo and quickly glanced up.

Lenne, who had moved from her spot between the bed and the couch sometime during the scuffle, was now leaning against the far wall for balance, wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt to control her laughter. Catching Shuyin’s confused gaze and wiping at the corner of her eye with a finger, she said, “You two seem like good friends.”

“Oh yeah,” Yasuo replied casually, releasing Shuyin’s confined hands to gesture rather nonchalantly with his own. Glaring huffily at Yasuo, Shuyin briefly entertained the idea of nailing him in the back of the head. However, before he could even raise one of his newly reclaimed fists to do so, he was swiftly whipped around the edge of the couch, an arm instantly wrapping around his neck in a tight headlock.

“Ack!” he shouted indignantly, trying to pull away from Yasuo’s firm hold and only succeeding in losing his balance.

“I love this guy. He’s a prince,” Yasuo continued, his voice still relaxed despite the fight Shuyin was putting up. “You know, once you get past the unneeded anger, the stubbornness, the complete lack of social perception—”

“Bite me!”

“—and the lack of manners,” Yasuo finished, digging his knuckles into the top of Shuyin’s head in a gratuitously brutal noogie. “You gotta love this guy.”

“Yeah,” Shuyin vaguely heard Lenne say as he broke free of Yasuo’s hold, stumbling back a bit before hastily finding his balance and rubbing his sore head, glaring venomously at the other man. Oh, if he wasn’t going to get it before, he was going to get it _now_!

A giggle from Lenne stole Shuyin’s attention once again, and he glanced up to find her kind, benevolent smile being cast his way. As angry, embarrassed, and ready to beat the life out of Yasuo as he was, under that smile, Shuyin couldn’t help but let such ferocity melt away.

“So,” Shuyin said frigidly, brushing his hair back into place and giving Yasuo a glare that was hopefully intimidating enough to make the man keep any further stories to himself, “what are you really here for?”

\---

One half hour and a decimated bathroom later, Yasuo was gone, leaving Lenne with the task of cheering up the particularly grumpy Shuyin that he had left in his wake.

“He didn’t actually tell me anything embarrassing about you,” she assured several minutes after Yasuo’s departure, gazing out at the still dreary scene beyond Shuyin’s window and running her fingers slowly along the glass.

“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Shuyin mumbled in reply, staring up at the ceiling from where he lay sprawled across his unmade bed.

“What? You think I’m lying to you?” Lenne asked lightheartedly, turning from her task of tracing a dewdrop’s path down the window to raise a mock-incredulous eyebrow at him.

Muttering out an indiscernible response, Shuyin turned on his side, resting his head in the cradle of his arm. Of course Yasuo told her something embarrassing about him. That wouldn’t be like Yasuo at all, given his apparent life’s goal to embarrass Shuyin whenever humanly possible—he still hadn’t forgotten two years ago when Yasuo had tearfully announced to the entire locker room that Shuyin had finally hit puberty. There was no way the man would pass up the wonderful opportunity to embarrass Shuyin that Lenne presented, not in a million years. The rat bastard.

“No, really, it’s the truth,” Lenne insisted. Turning away from the window, she walked over to the bed, kneeling beside it and propping her elbows amongst its messy sheets. “He just asked stuff about me, about how you were doing, what you’d been up to . . .” She paused for a moment, rolling her eyes up toward the ceiling and smiling gently. “. . . How long we’ve been seeing each other, stuff like that.”

“Bet he got a kick out of that,” Shuyin muttered, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“He did, actually,” Lenne admitted, chuckling a bit and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Then, as Shuyin sighed deeply and buried his face in his arm, she hastily added, “But not in a bad way. He was happy for us.”

“Uh huh.”

“Besides, it wouldn’t matter, right?” He felt the mattress give a bit, and suddenly Lenne slipped beneath his arm and curled up against him, resting one hand gently against his back and tucking her head beneath his chin. “I mean, me knowing some embarrassing things about you wouldn’t be too horrible. It’s not like I’d get up and run away.”

“It’s just knowing that you know,” Shuyin explained, though he was having trouble focusing on being grumpy with the way she was breathing on his neck and running her fingers lightly along the curve of his spine.

“You think I’m going to use it against you?”

“You would.”

Chuckling quietly, she nodded, her hair brushing and tickling his neck. Under any other circumstances, this would have made Shuyin completely forget about the world. He wouldn’t worry that the weather was bad, that Yasuo may or may not have revealed some of his most embarrassing secrets, or that there wasn’t anything to eat anywhere in the apartment and he and Lenne would probably starve if they didn’t go and pick something up soon. The only thing he would have to worry about was keeping his wits about him with Lenne as close as she was; the fact that she was only wearing a thin layer of lycra and a few inches of lace wasn’t helping deter his wandering state of mind. Really, being around her was torture sometimes; torture that he enjoyed every second of.

However, as calm and contented as she seemed, Lenne’s mind was obviously on a much different subject than his, even as she continued with her inadvertently enticing touches. Her next words made that evident, as well as crushed the serenity of the moment quite effectively.

“Shuyin,” she started, tucking her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt and toying with it inattentively, “I’m going to have to leave tomorrow morning. There’s . . . there’s a meeting I’m going to have to be at. It’s mandatory.”

Shuyin abruptly tensed up at her words, the tips of his fingers beginning to curl and his shoulders scrunching as best they could with the right one supporting his weight. Then, much more gradually, he relaxed again, and he swore that he would sink straight into the mattress, as limp and heavy as he felt. Slowly, he curled the arm that had been lifelessly splayed across her shoulders, settling his hand on her back and pulling her up against him as if this new information somehow made the inch of mattress that separated them far too vast. “Why?” he asked simply, his voice practically a croak as he buried his face in the hair at the top of her head. Normally he would have been taken aback by how good it smelled even though the scent was just a combination of sea salt, tap water, and his shampoo, but right now he hardly had it in him.

“Well, it’s _mandatory_ ,” she answered jokingly, though the gentle, sad tone that she spoke it with clearly showed that even she found no genuine humor in her answer.

“No,” he said, shifting some until he was able to look her in the eye. She held his steadfast gaze with a soft one of her own, her brows slanting some at whatever it was that she saw there. “Why do you have to do this?” he asked, nearly forlorn. “Why is it so important? Why—why do you have to do something that’s going to get you—” Faltering as if even thinking the word burned his tongue, he cast his eyes downward, “—going to get you killed?”

Letting out a slow, deep sigh, Lenne ducked her head a bit, curling up against him once again and resting her head against his chest. “The way I think about it,” she explained, flicking one of the buckles on his shirt, “it’s like this: Bevelle’s machina are immensely powerful, that we know for sure. If one of those machina managed to break through to Zanarkand, it could kill a thousand people or more before anyone could stop it. But, if I were to take out that machina, stop it before it could reach Zanarkand, I could save those thousand people. If I go, and I fight, I should be able to take care of at least one or two of their machina. Probably more if I’m careful. So, it’s like for every machina that I manage to destroy, a thousand people are saved. That’s a really good exchange, don’t you think?”

Though the entirety of her explanation had helped to further the tightening in his chest, her last sentence practically choked him. A good exchange? _A good exchange_?

“Really, I think it’s worth it,” she continued softly. “If I can actually do something to protect my people—” She paused for a moment, and he felt a gentle, barely discernable kiss against his throat, “—protect the people I care about,” she continued, “then it’s worth it, right?”

Truthfully, Shuyin suspected that he wouldn’t have felt much different if she had gutted him with a spade. _‘The people she cared about’_? Of all things, hearing that made him want to scream. Just scream and scream and scream until he was completely hollow and there was nothing left in him to feel this hurt. Yet, he could find neither his voice, nor the energy to pull himself from her. Then again, it probably didn’t matter. Even if he had nothing left in him to feel with, he still couldn’t imagine this not hurting.

“Hey, hey,” Lenne said comfortingly, apparently seeing something of what he was feeling in his features. Running a hand through the hair along the back of his head, she pulled him forward, meeting him halfway with a firm but quiet kiss. “It’ll be all right. Really, it will. I don’t have any regrets. I don’t want you to have any either.” A friendly, comforting smile graced her lips, her hand sliding from the back of his head and trailing across his cheek. “So, no regrets, okay?”

After a few moments of nothing but flabbergasted silence, he abruptly brought his hands behind her head and kissed her desperately, too clumsily and rough and no where near romantic but he didn’t know what else to do. What did she mean, ‘no regrets’? He loved her, and she was going to die. How could she even fathom that he could _not_ have regrets? Besides that, he was her guardian. It was his job to protect her, and he’d failed. But then, hadn’t he failed every step of the way? The scar on her forearm from the attack on the stadium, which he spotted upon pulling from the kiss with ragged breath and despondent eyes, was proof enough of that. So was the small, almost unnoticeable scar he knew was on her thigh, which she’d acquired during that first assault he’d seen at the shore. He’d failed her all those times, so why was it such a shock that he failed her now?

Burying that sorrow in another too-fierce kiss (which she returned, though he was sure she did it only for his benefit), he clamped his eyes shut tightly, feeling completely and utterly powerless. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he was useless. No matter how much he wanted there to be, there was absolutely nothing he could do to save her. _Nothing_.

Except . . .

Suddenly, he could almost feel the keyboard somewhere behind him, nearly forgotten after only four days’ worth of disuse. Somewhere near it, packed away tightly where Lenne wouldn’t see it and he wouldn’t have to look at it, was a multitude of precious information. Flawed information perhaps, but information nonetheless. Then, there was the song. That infuriating song that had eaten away weeks of his life, while meanwhile he was no better to show for it. But, for all its difficulties, it was what he needed. What he needed to access the greatest and most powerful of Bevelle’s weapons, to destroy the city, end the war . . .

Save Lenne.

Pulling away a second time, he let his head fall back to the mattress, his heavy breathing matching hers almost perfectly. At some point, one of the straps of her shirt had coyly slid from its original spot, falling away and leaving her shoulder bare. Her lips were kiss-bruised, and he felt guilty for all of a second before she swooped down on him for a third, her nimble fingers gently (and tortuously) manipulating the muscles of his chest and stomach. Thanks to that, he didn’t feel quite so ungentlemanly when his hand managed to slide beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.

‘No regrets’, she’d said. Where mere seconds ago that had seemed like an utter impossibility, the thought of the information and music that were no more than ten feet behind him had made it seem a little less so. Whatever else he needed, he was sure he could get it somehow. He did live in Zanarkand, after all. Even in its current state of need, he didn’t doubt that somewhere in the city, there was someone who could get him what he wanted, and whatever the price, it was worth it. _She_ was worth it.

Just before he completely gave up on coherent thought and instead turned himself over to his senses and desires, he mentally made a promise to her, a promise to do just as she’d asked him. No regrets, Lenne. No regrets.


	13. Chapter 13

“So, this is the stuff,” said Shuyin as he scrutinized the three bottles that had been set on the counter before him. Then again, maybe ‘bottles’ wasn’t the right word. They looked more like jars, similar to the ones he’d seen old ladies store preserves into in the past, only about ten times smaller. In fact, if their supposed contents wasn’t of such great importance to him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the little, thumb-sized containers at all.

“That’s right,” said the woman behind the counter, flashing him an assured smile and subsequently exposing several gold teeth. The bulky, metal contraptions on her shoulders shifting from side to side, she leaned forward, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin upon them (which was quite a feat in Shuyin’s eyes, given the number of her fingers that were missing or bent at awkward angles). “Highest quality Hero Drink you’ll find this side of anywhere.”

“Pretty confident, aren’t you?” Shuyin asked, picking one of the bottles up and holding it up to the light to examine it.

“Why, of course, sir. I did mix them myself, after all,” she responded, running her tongue over her teeth and continuing to smile. Her civility was a bit surprising, given how short she had been with him when he’d come in a week before to place the order. Shuyin made a mental note to offer up-front payment more often when he wanted to buy something. Maybe his food would start to taste better.

Turning the bottle over carefully, Shuyin squinted at the substance within. Honestly, it didn’t look like any other potion or support item that he’d ever seen. Unlike this little concoction, the things he was used to had a very distinct color. Potions, for instance, were a bright blue color, while remedies were a light green. This Hero Drink, for how powerful it supposedly was, looked suspiciously like something else.

“You know, this is going to be pretty expensive for me. I’d really rather not get tricked into spending that much money on water,” he commented apprehensively, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and setting the bottle gently back down. At the same time, he started praying that he wasn’t pushing his luck with this calm, collected, and well-versed charade that he was putting on. He knew it was better than acting as unsure and nervous as he really was (he probably would have been beaten up and robbed the instant he set foot in this part of the city had he acted like _that_ ), but he decided that he should probably tone down the uppity attitude a bit. That gun the shopkeeper had hanging on the wall behind her was starting to look more and more menacing with every overconfident word he spoke.

Motoring her lips and shaking her head, the shopkeeper adjusted the goggles on her forehead seemingly by force of habit before bringing one of the bottles toward her. After unscrewing the cap as gently as one would stroke a baby’s brow, she reached down, letting one of her straightest fingers hover ever-so-carefully over the liquid. Pulling her hand back, Shuyin spotted the slightest drop of it upon her finger, just before she planted it against her tongue.

For a moment, Shuyin stared at her, waiting for what was supposed to happen. Then, suddenly, she wasn’t there to stare at anymore. Though he knew exactly what Hero Drinks were supposed to do, he’d never actually seen them in use before, and couldn’t help but start at her sudden disappearance. She was just _gone_. Betraying his composed façade, he leaned over the counter, careful not to knock over the open bottle, and tentatively reached to where she had been but a moment before. Almost immediately, his hand was slapped away.

“Satisfied?” came the shopkeeper’s voice as the lid of the bottle rose from the counter and seemingly screwed itself back on.

“Yeah,” Shuyin said, nodded dazedly before he was chucked under the chin by no one.

“Chin up, kid,” said the shopkeeper mockingly, her outline slowly beginning to reappear as if he were seeing her through a window screen. She was smirking at him, those gold teeth shining in the shop’s muted light. “You don’t want to make yourself look stupid or anything.” So much for courtesy.

More than a little embarrassed at his loss of face, Shuyin reached into his pocket and fished about for her payment, grumbling all the while. It only took him a moment to find and extract the required gil, and he crossly set the coins down on the counter beside the bottles. Glancing at them briefly as he pulled his hand away, he couldn’t help but flinch a little at the number of zeros that were carved into their golden surfaces.

Reaching down and taking one of the coins, the shopkeeper squinted at it, turning it over once or twice, and then swiftly bit it. Raising an eyebrow at her, Shuyin suddenly felt that he had a good idea why she had so many false teeth.

“Did you expect I’d trust you any more than you trust me?” she asked as she dropped the coin back into the pile, obviously satisfied with its authenticity. Pulling the coins toward her, she took a moment to count them before expertly sweeping them into her crooked hand. “Each of these,” she said, gently pushing the Hero Drinks toward Shuyin, “will last you one half-hour. I suggest you make good use of them.”

“And you’re sure this is all you have?” Shuyin asked, glancing down at the three measly bottles. “You can’t make any more?”

Again, she motored her lips. “If you want more, kid, by all means, feel free to track down and bribe a fiend with Dark Matter. It should only take you a few months.”

His eyes narrowing, Shuyin scowled at her rather plainly before looking down to inspect the bottles. He could make this work, he supposed. He just had to ration them out in all the right places, make them last. Yeah, he could make this work.

Carefully picking up the bottles, he eyed the shopkeeper from a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to pull down that nifty little firearm of hers and put a hole through him to get her Hero Drinks back. However, she made no move to do so, instead taking her earnings and heading into the back room, the curtain over the door swishing about a bit before the entire shop went eerily quiet. Letting his gaze travel uncomfortably over the dark, dusty shelves of rare (and most likely illegal) potions for a bit, Shuyin turned toward the hole in the wall that served as a door and gently deposited his fragile purchases into his pocket. Then, putting on his fiercest face, he headed out, intent on getting out of this part of the city before he got himself mugged.

\---

“Hey, Shuyin! Come on, open up!”

“Nobody’s home,” Shuyin mumbled to himself from between his teeth, continuing to write and ignoring the shouting and loud knocking coming from the other side of his front door.

“I know you’re there, Shuyin,” the voice crowed after a few more swift knocks.

“No you don’t,” Shuyin muttered.

“I’ll break this door down, Shuyin! Don’t think I won’t!”

He’d do it too, Shuyin realized resignedly. “Yasuo,” he called back, his tone a mix of defeat and irritation as he turned toward the door. “Just go away. I’m busy right now.”

“Too busy for me?” Yasuo replied, feigning hurt. “Your dear old friend?”

“Yep. Sorry. Come back later,” Shuyin answered as callously as possible and turned away, expecting a whiny retort in return. To his surprise, none came. Quickly, Shuyin turned back to the door, fixing it with a baffled stare. Apparently, for once, Yasuo had decided not to make his life difficult. It was quite a strange feeling, Shuyin realized as he turned back to his paperwork. Almost saddening in a way.

It didn’t last long. An instant later, something slammed into the door with enough force to shake the floor beneath it, and Shuyin nearly fell out of his chair in fright. Swiftly grabbing the sides of the chair to keep himself from tumbling out of it, he shot a venomous glare toward the door

“What is your _problem_?” he bellowed viciously.

“I’ll do it again!”

A furious growl in his throat, Shuyin abandoned his chair, stomped to the door, and threw it open with a fervor. Of course, there was Yasuo, looking smug and rather pleased with himself. “I knew I’d get you to open up,” he said, his accomplished smile in direct contrast to Shuyin’s infuriated scowl.

“What do you _want_?” Shuyin hissed, gripping said door tightly enough to leave finger-shaped marks in it. They would go nicely with the Yasuo-shaped indentation that was surely there now.

“What? I shouldn’t ever want to check up on my friend when he hasn’t come out of his apartment for who knows how long?”

“I’ve only been in here for a few days.”

“Ten minute walks don’t count.”

Groaning, Shuyin put his free hand against his forehead, dragging his bangs down over his eyes. He _really_ wasn’t in the mood for this. He had things that he needed to do; things he much rather would have been alone while doing. Frankly, it was hard enough to be doing it at all, and he couldn’t imagine it getting any better with someone around to distract him. Especially not when that someone was directly involved.

“Shu, you look beat,” Yasuo said, leaning against the doorframe and bending down to get a better look at the blonde. “And paler.”

Though it was customary for Shuyin to snap at the other man about how much he hated that nickname and if Yasuo used it one more time he was going to be missing a few select parts, he couldn’t muster up the will. Instead, he simply turned back to his apartment, shaking his head wearily as he headed away from the door.

Walking back over to the counter and plopping back down in his chair (he really needed to get a table), he turned back to the neglected papers before wincing at the newly-made ink streak that ran the width of the top page. Wonderful. Grumbling, he shot a glare Yasuo’s way, silently cursing the man. Yasuo, however, didn’t notice that bit of silent rage being sent his way as he, true to form, let himself in; his attention was elsewhere.

“Looks like you’re all ready to go somewhere,” he commented, prodding a backpack that was leaning against the couch with the toe of his shoe. Looking down, Shuyin realized for the first time just how full he’d packed that old bag. It didn’t give even the slightest bit as Yasuo jabbed at it. That was going to be horrible to carry, he realized apprehensively.

“Be careful,” he said hastily. “There’s breakable stuff in there.”

“Breakable stuff, huh?” Thankfully, Yasuo didn’t argue with Shuyin’s request, and stepped away from the bag. “So, where are you headed to?” he asked slowly, glancing up at Shuyin with knowing eyes.

“You know exactly where I’m headed to,” Shuyin mumbled, getting merely a glimpse at the surprised look on Yasuo’s face before turning back to his papers.

“I guess I do,” Yasuo admitted after a moment, his words followed by the squeal of springs as he dropped himself onto the sagging couch. “The keyboard really should have clued me in, shouldn't it’ve?”

Pausing in his attempts to clean up his blotched paperwork, Shuyin turned his gaze toward the other man, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think handing me the big stack of information about Vegnagun and telling me to go use it should have clued you in?”

“Hey, I was drunk,” Yasuo retorted, pointing at Shuyin defensively.

“You act like that excuse works for anything.”

“It doesn’t work when I’m _not_ drunk.”

“Which is when? Never?”

“Says the man who always swims the wrong way during blitzball games.”

“Hey! I’ve told you this a million times: it’s a good strategy if you do it right!”

“Seems you never did it right, then.”

“You know, if you’re just gonna insult me, you can leave.”

“Hm. Somebody’s touchy.” With that, Yasuo turned his eyes toward the ceiling, resting his hands behind his head. “Now that I’m thinking about, what _did_ you do with those magazines?”

“Over there,” Shuyin said, waving vaguely around the corner where he knew a footstool-sized white box was sitting, its lid bulging and not quite able to close due to the mass of papers within. All the information he’d needed to pull his plan together was in there, from lists of supplies, to important addresses, to bits of data about Vegnagun that most of his sources had in common.

However, he spared the box only the smallest bit of attention, for his mind was on something much more important. Pushing the blemished top page aside for a moment, he pulled from below it a list, which he had written much more hastily and thus not as neatly. He stared at it for a moment, turning it over in his hands, his face cheerless and drawn.

In the past few months, Shuyin had done quite a few things in the name of making his plan come together, some less legal than others. Buying Hero Drinks (an act that in and of itself could get him thrown in jail faster than he could snap his fingers) from what looked like one of the shadiest dealers in Zanarkand’s shadiest district was hardly the only bit of illegal commerce he was guilty of. Maps of Bevelle and the Bevelle Underground, for instance, weren’t exactly things that he could pick up when he went out to buy eggs. That wasn’t even counting how expensive they were, like everything else in that district. He didn’t even want to think about how much gil he’d shelled out to random strangers for simple directions.

Then, when he hadn’t been doing something criminal, he was doing something either intensely strenuous or otherwise unpleasant. For instance, while he knew that improving the aim of his magic casting would come in handy when he needed a fire that could stand up to the harsh climate of Gagazet, he really missed his curtains. In addition, there was the nearly two straight months’ worth of insomnia, stress, and frustration that was the result of trying to learn Vegnagun’s Ballad perfectly. While he’d finally managed to do so (and had consequently come dangerously close to bursting into tears of joy), it was hardly something he wanted to dwell on. Just thinking about all that hassle and strain gave him a headache.

Yet, all of that paled in comparison to what he had to do now.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly got to his feet, feeling as if his joints might crack under the weight of this new, bleak task. Moving around the corner to where Yasuo was trying to subtly open the box and peek inside, Shuyin pressed the bit of paper up against the man's chest, then quickly turned away, leaving Yasuo to catch it before it fluttered to the ground.

“What’s this?” Yasuo asked, smoothing a few wrinkles out of the page, holding it up to read, and blinking at what was written upon it. “Blitzball equipment, couch, two-thousand gil? What is this, a grocery list?”

“No,” Shuyin replied, dragging the word out for emphasis. Why couldn’t Yasuo just figure out for himself what it was? It would have made things so much easier. Sighing, Shuyin shook his head and, without turning to Yasuo, said, “That’s what you get of my stuff.”

For once in his life, it seemed that Yasuo lacked any sort of snappy retort. “Huh?” he said, sounding completely and utterly dumbstruck.

“Well,” Shuyin said uneasily, speaking quickly even as he tried to act nonchalant. “You know, if I don’t give it to _someone_ then it’ll all go to the system and somebody I don’t even know’ll get it and . . . you know, it might as well go to someone I _do_ know, right? Then I’ll at least know it’s appreciated.”

After a few very awkward moments of silence, Yasuo slowly, somewhat dumbly replied, “What are you saying?”

Oh for the love of—! How obvious could he possibly be? “What?” Shuyin offered, feigning amusement instead of going with his instinct to scream in frustration. “Not enough for you? I’d give you the apartment, really, but Lenne’s getting it. I didn’t really think you could keep up with the rent. Plus I don’t _have_ much else, you know.”

“No,” Yasuo said, seeming somewhat urgent for how slowly he spoke. “That’s not it.” Reaching behind him with his free hand, he found the closest wall, carefully leaning against it for support. An empty sounding hum taking the place of what would typically be his jovial laugh, Yasuo aimed half-lidded eyes at the blonde, smiling dryly before turning his gaze toward the floor. “I was just kind of under the impression that you’d find a way to do this and, you know, _stay alive_. Isn’t that what this is all about anyway?” Looking up again, he fixed Shuyin with a meaningful stare. “Isn’t this about you wanting to save Lenne so you could be with her?”

“Things change,” Shuyin said listlessly, crossing his arms over his chest in a manner quite contradictory to the guilt he was trying to force from his features. “But I could still come back,” he amended, his voice soft and more than a little sad. However, his next words saw a much stronger, more Shuyin-esque tone. “So that stuff is on indefinite loan, got it? The second I walk back into this city, that stuff’s mine again.”

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” Yasuo responded, putting forth a good effort to return to his jovial self in the face of these new developments. “My couch is crap. I like yours. You’re going to have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”

For his part, Shuyin couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Then again, he knew he didn’t have much leeway to complain. After all, as much as he didn’t like Yasuo acting annoying, he had to admit that it was much better than him acting gut-wrenchingly depressing. So, he let the comment slide, his only response a ‘humph’ of annoyance as he blew a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“So, s’that what that’s for too?” Yasuo asked, nodding toward the papers on the counter. “Gonna give Lenne one of these little lists?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shuyin answered, intentionally neglecting to notice the subtle bitterness in Yasuo’s voice. Shaking his head, Shuyin moved to the counter, picking up the papers and straightening the pile absently. “You know she can’t know.”

“So you’re doing it the formal way with her?”

“I’m doing it the formal way with _both_ of you,” Shuyin corrected. “I just figured that since I could give you some notice, I should.”

“That’s kind of you,” Yasuo said, though Shuyin couldn’t tell if he was being honest or not.

“It _is_ kind of me,” he responded, just in case.

“But you’re not going to do that for Lenne?”

Gaze dropping to the floor, Shuyin splayed his hands out on the countertop, resting his weight on them. “You know I can’t,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “I can’t tell her.”

“Yeah,” Yasuo agreed somberly. Then, in an attempt at humor, he added, “She’d probably tie you up and lock you in her closet before she let you leave.”

“Something like that.”

“Maybe drag you out once in a while to have her way wi—”

“You’re done talking.”

“You know you love the idea.”

“ _That_ is none of your business. Can we be serious, please?” Suddenly, Shuyin found himself missing the solemnity from before.

“Fine,” Yasuo yielded, holding his hands up to deter any more snappishness from being directed his way. “So, what are you going to tell her?”

“I . . .” Shuyin started slowly, slumping a bit and resting even more weight on his hands. “I don’t know.” What _could_ he tell her? Given that, under normal circumstances, he would be shot the instance he stepped outside the barricade without a passport, there weren’t too many believable lies that he could tell. The best story he had was that he went to take care of a sick friend in one of the lower districts and would have to stay with them for a few weeks, and that practically screamed ‘sham’. Frankly, if he could see holes in his own story, there was very little hope that Lenne would somehow miss them. It might just be better, he thought, to disappear into the night without a word. But then he had the little problem of not being able to live with himself for doing that to her, and dying knowing he’d never see her again. That was a one-way ticket to fiend-dom if he’d ever seen one.

From behind him, he heard the thick, rubbery sound of a ball bouncing, repeating itself rhythmically. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Yasuo had somehow gotten a hold of his training blitzball and was bouncing it attentively, snatching it out of the air every now and then when the studs sent it flying off to the side.

“Well,” he said casually as he stepped forward, balancing the blitzball in one hand and placing the other on Shuyin’s shoulder encouragingly. “You’ll think of something, won’t you? You’re a smart boy.” His smile broadening, he flattened his hand—the blitzball poised carefully in his palm—and held the bumpy globe out to Shuyin as if it were some sort of amazing prize. Eyebrow raised, Shuyin reached forward and took it, holding it much more awkwardly than normal. What exactly was he supposed to do with it?

However, his bemused expression didn’t prompt any sort of explanation. Instead, Yasuo merely stepped away, staring off toward the window. “Sea sure looks nice today,” he commented nonchalantly, cradling his hands behind his head. “Wish we were out there. Makes you kind of wish we’d been given the okay to head out for practice, doesn’t it?”

_Oh_. “Yeah,” Shuyin answered, though blitzball wasn’t anywhere on his mind at the moment.

“Mhm,” Yasuo hummed in response, nodding once before rapidly changing the subject. “So, when’re you going to tell her?”

“Tonight,” Shuyin responded, letting the blitzball roll from his hand onto the countertop. “After I finish this paperwork up. There’s way too much of it.”

“You think you’re going to be up to it?” Yasuo asked, finally turning away from the window and fixing his gaze upon Shuyin.

“No,” the blonde admitted. “But I have to do it. For both our sakes, I think.”

“Just don’t cry when you tell her. That’s my only advice.”

Eying the other man incredulously, Shuyin shook his head. “I’m not going to cry.”

“Don’t try to be macho,” Yasuo advised. “It doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m _not_ going to cry.”

“Good. Then she hopefully won’t. At least, not as much as she would if you did.”

Once again, Shuyin shook his head, though was much slower about it this time. “No,” he said softly. “Lenne doesn’t cry. She . . . she doesn’t want to upset people. She always acts happy, so other people’ll be happy.”

“So you’re just ‘people’ to her?” Yasuo asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, no but . . . Fine. I get it,” Shuyin conceded with an irritated sigh. Yasuo had a point, for once.

“It’s good advice,” Yasuo assured, nodding. “Well, I guess I should get out of your hair. You’ve got a lot of—” he paused for a moment, gesturing toward the papers on the counter, and Shuyin almost thought he saw the man wince, “— _planning_ to do.”

“Yeah, I . . .I guess so,” Shuyin agreed, uneasily rubbing the back of his head and keeping his gaze fixed on his friend’s shoes.

“So,” said Yasuo, his words sounding forced and awkward as he moved out of Shuyin’s field of view, “I guess I’ll see you.” Despite himself, Shuyin couldn’t help but smile a little at that (though in what—appreciation or disbelief—he wasn’t quite sure). ‘See you.’ That was just like Yasuo.

“Hey,” he said, swiftly turning toward Yasuo just as the man was reaching for the doorknob. “Can you do me one favor?”

Turning from the door only the slightest bit, Yasuo glanced at the blonde out of the corner of his eye. “Hm?”

“When this is all over, when Bevelle’s gone and the war’s over and everything, Lenne’s not going to know what happened to me,” Shuyin explained cautiously, doing everything in his power to focus on the words and forego thinking about the events behind them. “I . . . I don’t want that. I don’t want her to wait for me to come back, and I don’t want her to end up wondering what happened to me when I don’t.”

“So you want me to tell her?”

“Yeah. Could you?”

“Anything for you, buddy,” Yasuo answered, giving Shuyin a small smile and salute before turning back to the door.

“Thanks,” Shuyin replied, glancing down at his hand and watching his fingers flex beneath the fabric of his glove. “You were always a good friend.”

Without even looking up, Shuyin easily knew what Yasuo’s reaction to a statement like _that_ would be. He could practically feel the overjoyed astonishment radiating off of the man, though he was standing a good ten or so feet away. Sure enough, when Shuyin cautiously glanced up, a dazed smile was being cast his way, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow. To say the least, it was a disconcerting expression. Then again, it wasn’t exactly unexpected. Arguably, that simple little sentence was the most sincere declaration of friendship that Shuyin had made to Yasuo in all the years that they had known each other. As such Yasuo wasn’t slow to pick up on it.

However, instead of making a joke of it, as Shuyin feared he would, the man merely kept up his smiling and eyebrow-raising without saying so much as a word. Then, Shuyin glanced away, the door opened and closed, and Yasuo was gone.

\---

As nervous as Lenne had been at first about practicing her magic casting skills inside her apartment (what if she punched a hole through the floor or set something on fire?), it was surprisingly easy for her to slip into a bored lull after only a few minutes of it. Even the spectacular—though admittedly short—light display that each spell offered got dull after a while. Soon enough, she’d gone from being nervous and focused, to borderline comatose as she continued to watch each spell come to life, and then fizzle away before her eyes. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga, Waterga, Bio. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga, Waterga, Bio. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga, Waterga, Bio. For a moment, as a Bio spell hissed and bubbled angrily in front of her, she pondered practicing some more powerful magic. However, she quickly decided against it. She was already pushing it by incorporating Firaga into her sequence of spells, but trying out Flare or Demi or Ultima would probably be taking it a little too far. Demi alone would probably take out her entire apartment, and maybe those in the surrounding area if she were unlucky. So, flicking her wrist back and forth, she kept with her current cycle. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga, Waterga, Bio. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga, Waterga, Bio. Firaga, Blizzaga, Thundaga . . .

Then, a knock came at the door—something that, as a result of her trance-like state, she was unfortunately unprepared for.

“Huh?” Lenne said, swiftly turning toward the door. Unfortunately, she inadvertently did so while halfway through casting a spell. The next thing she knew, it slammed full force into the door, and she was skittering backward with a yelp of fright.

Thankfully, by some incredible stretch of luck, the spell in question turned out to be no more than a Waterga. Though the door (and possibly the person behind it if they didn’t manage to get out of the way) was completely soaked and took a bit of a battering, that was nothing compared to what a Thundaga or Firaga would have done. Realizing this, Lenne breathed a sigh of relief, infinitely grateful for her good luck. Then, as person outside the door finally made himself known—cautiously pushing the door open and poking his head into the apartment to investigate—she couldn’t help but appreciate that luck all the more.

“Jeez, Lenne,” said a somewhat rattled and very, very wet Shuyin. “If you didn’t want me to come in, you could’ve just said so.”

Hand flying to her mouth and a blush warming her face, Lenne all but leapt to her feet, tripping over herself in the process. “Shuyin! What are you—oh, are you okay? I’m so sorry! I—I was just practicing and, well, I didn’t expect anyone so . . . Oh, I am _so_ sorry. Um, let me get you a towel . . .”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Shuyin said from behind a half-hidden grin of amusement. As she hastily thrust a towel into his hands, she felt them skirt around it and smoothly encircle her forearms, halting her frenzied scurrying. “ _Relax_. Breathe, okay? I’m fine. Everything’s intact.” As proof, he released her arms and spread his own out, stepping back to give her a better view. Swiftly scanning his form, Lenne saw that all of his parts were indeed in one piece and at the correct angle. Of course, hadn’t she already known that the spell wouldn’t have caused him any extensive harm? Apparently, guilt was incredible effective at deterring logical thought.

“Anyway, what are you doing in here?” Shuyin asked as he went to work drying his sopping wet hair. Craning his neck a bit, he glanced over her shoulder into the living room, and then promptly cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh . . .” Glancing over her shoulder, it didn’t take long for Lenne to notice the cause of his incredulous expression. As trivial as it had seemed when her focus had been on magic casting, now the disaster zone that was her den suddenly seemed like such an obtrusive spectacle that it was beyond ignoring. The entire space was strewn with bits of ragged, torn fabric, some pieces still soaked, burnt, or covered in bits of frost from recent encounters with her magic. Even more numerous were the scattered beans and bits of rice, all as equally decimated as the ash-like cloth. “I was just practicing my magic.”

“On what?” Shuyin asked as he ducked around her and into the room. Experimentally, he nudged a bit of scorched fabric with his foot, starting when a bit of static jumped from it to his shoe. Then, his face contorting into an overdramatic, theatrical depiction of terror, he whirled about to face her, eyes widened to sensational proportions. “ _Are these the remains of your previous victims?_ ” he gasped, pretending to stumble over himself.

“Oh, shush,” Lenne retorted, brow furrowed as she wagged a finger at him crossly. However, the authority of her chastising was quickly compromised when a would-not-be-denied smile started to tug at the corners of her lips, betraying her angry façade.

Catching onto her sparsely concealed amusement, Shuyin’s look of horror quickly morphed into a grin, an energetic, amiable laugh following at its heels. After that, it wasn’t long before Lenne’s strict face also fell away, and despite herself, she succumbed to giggles right along with him. That was one thing about Shuyin that would have made it impossible to stay mad at him, even if her anger had been genuine: when he meant it, his laugh was as infectious as choco-pox.

“For your information,” she scolded jokingly through one last laugh. “It was just using beanbags.” Skirting past him and tiptoeing around the debris, she stopped in front of the couch and knelt down. A moment later, she was on her feet again, holding up one of the beanbags in question for him to see (thankfully, she hadn’t had the chance to use it yet, which meant her fingers didn’t get zapped with static or smeared with charcoal). “See?” she said, tossing the small, somewhat squishy ball of cotton and dried beans to him for closer inspection. “Nothing sinister about that, right?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Shuyin admitted, examining the ball. Then, rubbing his chin as if in inquiry, he added, “Though this could be just a clever plot to throw me off the trail . . .”

At that, Lenne raised her arms up above her head, fingers moving about insinuatingly as a teasing smirk spread across her face. “You’re holding one of my targets, you know.”

“Ah ha! I knew you were up to no good!”

Her laughter renewed, Lenne shook her head at him before striding back across the room, plucking the soft little pseudo-sphere from his fingers, and kneading it between her own. “So, what’s up?”

“Hm?”

“Well, you didn’t just come here to get hit with a water spell, right?” Lenne joked, lightly brushing a hand against his shoulder.

In response to that—as she saw it—completely innocent joke, his smile vanished, his brow furrowing and gaze dropping nervously to the floor as if her words had struck a particularly dismal chord in him. However, before she could really begin to comprehend what she was seeing, his expression changed once again, returning to the smiling one of half an instant before (though now, she noticed, there was the smallest bit of anxiety tingeing those handsome blue eyes). “Oh, nothing really,” he said, rubbing the back of his head and shrugging. “Just thought I’d stop by. You know, see if you were busy.”

Blinking bemusedly for a moment, Lenne raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure?” she asked helpfully, resting a hand on his shoulder, and she could have sworn she felt him twitch the slightest bit.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered a little too casually. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, grinning at her brazenly through his bangs as he rubbed circles against her hips with his thumbs. “As much as you don’t think so, you’re good company.” His lips—tasting of mint and salt—were chapped and rough against hers for the moment they remained, though not unpleasantly so. “But,” he added when he pulled back, glancing over her shoulder, “looks like you _are_ busy.”

Following his gaze over her shoulder once again, Lenne shook her head. “No. No, not really. I was just practicing magic, after all. Nothing important.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said. Pulling away from her, he moved into the den, grabbed one of the two stools at the counter that split her tiny apartment, and took a seat.

After a short, confused pause, Lenne pointed at him incredulously, tilting her head a bit. “You want to watch me?”

“Sure,” he answered, cradling his hands behind his head. “Why not?”

“Well, it’s kind of boring.”

“Naw,” Shuyin said, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “I want to see if you’re better than me.”

Though she knew it was hardly proper decorum, Lenne couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. Though she would never say so, beating Shuyin in a contest of magic-casting abilities probably wouldn’t be all that difficult.

Chuckling at her skeptical expression, Shuyin smirked haughtily at her, the look of him screaming a sort of confidence that she didn’t know how he could have. “Here,” he said, hopping from the stool and scooping up three somewhat frosty, but still relatively intact, beanbags. “I’ll throw for you. Let’s see what you can do.”

“Okay,” Lenne agreed, walking to where she’d previously been situated and getting into position (though that was hardly required, as she’d been casting spells sitting down for about half-hour now).

“Ready, and . . .” Shutting her eyes for a moment, Lenne quickly leafed through the spells she’d been practicing, before pulling Thundaga from the mire and focusing on it. Feeling the spell itching in her fingertips and confident that it would get the job done, she drew her hand back, ready to cast. However, upon opening her eyes, she realized she had more to deal with than she had guessed. Instead of throwing just one target, Shuyin had pulled a fast one on her, and all three targets were sailing through the air before her.

A surprised little noise in the back of her throat, Lenne let loose the Thundaga she had prepared, the first target taking the full force of it and flying off to the side. Then, as she reached for a Waterga spell to take out the second target (the third one, she realized, would most likely go untouched), it burst into flames before her eyes, the third doing so right after. A yelp on her lips, she took a quick step back, the edge of the couch pushing her knees in and leaving her to fall gracelessly to the cushions. What was _that_? She wondered, blinking in shock and not bothering to straighten herself out. She’d been calling up a water spell. How had . . .?

Slowly, she turned to face Shuyin, and was immediately met with an assured, impish grin. “Well?”

Gawking at him wordlessly for a moment, Lenne slowly leaned forward, hands sliding to her lap (or, more appropriately, what swiftly became her lap as she snapped her knees together with a blush and an embarrassed little cough). “You’ve been practicing,” she said, a bit unnecessarily, giving him an impressed smile while bypassing the rest of what she had thought to say. No matter her tone, she doubted pointing out he hadn’t blown a hole in anything would help his ego.

“Just a little,” he answered sarcastically, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“ _Just_ a little,” she agreed, shaking her head as she scooped up the two still relatively intact beanbags, wincing a little as a bit of static zapped through her fingers. “But no more cheap shots, okay?” she said, walking up, placing them in his hands, and tapping the bridge of his nose mock-scornfully.

“Aw,” he whined, juggling the beanbags in his hand. “I don’t get to play?”

“It’s not _that_ much fun.”

“We can make it that fun.”

“This is magic we’re working with, though,” Lenne reminded him. “You might lose control of it if you’re not careful.”

“Careful’s my middle name,” he assured, and once again, Lenne felt her eyebrow rise and her mouth twist a little. “No, I mean it. I’ll be careful. Penalty-goal-to-win-the-game careful. Promise.” To seal the deal, he traced his finger across his chest, drawing an invisible ‘X’ over his heart.

“All right,” Lenne finally conceded—she couldn’t find it in herself to turn him down, in any case, after a display as adorable as that. “But we’re just practicing. No making a contest out of this.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed, bowing at the waist and nearly tipping his stool over—she’d forgot to warn him how rickety those old things were.

And, of course, Shuyin kept his promise, as he was wont to do. He didn’t pull anything else she wouldn’t expect, and if he was going to try his hand at casting, he made a point of letting her know. He made no move to steal her targets from her, only doing any casting himself after announcing, “This one’s mine,” or something to that effect. Just as he’d promised, he didn’t make a contest out of it.

She did.

“I got this one,” he called, rolling the ball in his hand for a moment before tossing it up toward the ceiling and pulling his hands back to cast. However, just as the sparks of his Firaga surrounded the target, half an instant from bursting into brilliant flame and burning the target black, a miniature lightening bolt—Thundaga—shot straight through the target, splitting it open and sending it flying to the side just as the Firaga came to claim it.

It was Shuyin’s turn to jump back in surprise it seemed, and it was only thanks to those whip-crack reflexes of his that he was able to grab the counter and catch himself before he and the stool when tumbling to the floor in a mess of flesh and wooden limbs.

“Careful,” Lenne said, holding a hand out (as if, somehow, it would do any good were he to _actually_ fall over), while her other one took up a position before her mouth, covering up a little, shameless smile.

Once he found his balance and was able to push himself back into a steadier position, Shuyin turned his eyes upon her, laughing almost disbelievingly. “You _sneak_ ,” he said amusedly, pointing at her with half a shadow of accusation. “I thought you didn’t want to make this into a contest.”

“Well,” Lenne started, grinning broadly, “We’re both pretty good as far as control goes, so I thought it might be fun to give it a little try. Be a little spontaneous.”

“You’re getting a lot better at that,” Shuyin noted.

“I learned from the master. Besides, it never hurts to be spontaneous once in a while, right?”

“Well, _actually_ , there was that one time—”

“That is of course,” Lenne interrupted, shrugging and trying to seem flippant, “if you don’t think you’re up to it. That’s fine. I don’t want to push you.”

That was all it took—thankfully, the brief absence of blitzball from his life hadn’t so much as dulled Shuyin’s competitive edge. After that, it was mere moments before sparks were, quite literally, flying, along with an equal amount of ice dust, bubbling green foam, and cold mist and droplets. The tension in the small room was nearly tangible, anticipation of the throw leaving them both inches from nose-diving off the metaphorical edge. However, after an instant and a crack of magic, all of that would be gone with a laugh of triumph for one of the two, and a hiss of defeat for the other.

“Don’t most guys let the girl win?” Lenne remarked after one such instance, where her Waterga had lost the target by a quarter of a second, if that.

“That’s only when the girl can’t do it right on her own,” Shuyin corrected, pulling off his gloves, which had long become sticky with sweat. Flexing his fingers and wiping them off on his pants, he added, “Besides, you’re already winning! Do you want me to lose harder, or something?”

“Or something,” she answered with a chuckle, holding out a hand. “Here. How about I throw for a while?”

However, as fun as their contest was, it wasn’t without its risks. At one point, as the duo continued to swiftly (and more than a bit recklessly, by now) match each other spell for spell, a Thundaga from Shuyin met a Blizzaga of Lenne’s at just the wrong time. Instead of fading away as her previous spells had done, the icy spell stalagmite burst under the strain of the Thundaga, sending a thousand jagged shards shooting in every direction. A horrified yelp on her lips, Lenne threw herself to the floor, flattening out as one of the deadly splinters whizzed past her shoulder and embedded itself into the couch at her back. An instant later, apart from one last, staticy buzz and pop, everything was silent.

Lifting her head, Lenne glanced about the room slowly, searching for damage. Surprisingly, aside from her now toppled waist-high bookcase over in the corner and a few minute puncture holes in the walls, everything looked relatively intact and unscathed. Sitting up, blinking a few times and shaking her head to orient herself, she then turned her gaze toward Shuyin.

He was flat on his back at the counter’s base, apparently unable to compensate for the shakiness of the stool a third time. Blinking stupidly at the ceiling for a moment, he eventually turned his head to the side, giving Lenne an utterly shell-shocked look. “You okay?” he asked dimly, not even moving to pull himself up.

“Y-yeah,” Lenne affirmed quietly, nodding.

“Um . . .well,” he said, letting his gaze drift about the floor.

“Yeah.”

“…Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“Um . . .okay then.”

“Right,” Lenne said, resting her fingers against her temple and leaning her head against them. After a moment, the fear and adrenaline that was coursing through her system began to subside, and there was a trembling in her stomach and a titter in her throat. They’d almost gotten hit with their own spells. How ridiculous was _that_?

Before long, the titter morphed into a chuckle, then to a laugh, and soon enough she was doubled over, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, guffaws shaking her frame. After her he eyed for a moment, confusion obvious and abundant in his features, Shuyin’s sweet, bubbly laugh quickly joined hers, and soon the two were both at the mercy of full-blown belly laughter. Several minutes later, when they hurt from their hysterics and were finally able to calm down, they went back to their casting, though they were much more cautious about it and made a point of synchronizing their spells.

The hours slipped away from the duo remarkably quickly, and in her enjoyment, Lenne had no desire to keep track of them. However, it still seemed like far too soon when both found themselves utterly drained and unable to do any more casting. Thus, sadly but necessarily, their practice match at last came to an end.

Her body heavy from the exercise and strain, Lenne splayed her arms out across the couch’s backrest and turned toward Shuyin, exhausted by still smiling. “Well, that was fun.”

“It was something, all right,” Shuyin agreed, stretching his own arms out across the counter and leaning back, forcing the stool onto its unsteady back legs as if he wished to go tumbling off of it again. Apparently unaware of his tempting of fate (or else, unconcerned by it), he busied himself with peeling off his unattached collar and rubbing away a bit of sweat that had gathered beneath it (someday, Lenne told herself, she was going to find out why he insisted on wearing that strange not-quite-bandolier when it served no apparent purpose other than to look peculiar).

“We should do it again sometime,” Lenne suggested lazily. Stretching her arms out and slowly getting to her feet, she headed for her minuscule kitchen, intent on the cabinet where her equally small medicinal stockpile was held. Hopefully she had at least one spare ether left somewhere in that dusty little niche. “But next time, lets make a mess out of your place instead,” she added, pulling open the cabinet and rummaging through it.

However, instead of hearing a laugh or a witty comeback about how her apartment really couldn’t get any messier, the room grew uncomfortably quiet, before he uttered a single, rather distant, “Yeah, sure.”

Leaning around the cupboard door, Lenne glanced at Shuyin’s back bemusedly, wondering at his new, somewhat slumped posture. “What’s wrong?” she asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she went back to rifling through the cabinet.

“Um, nothing,” he answered quickly, his voice guarded as if he’d just said something he shouldn’t have. Slowly, he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re a bad liar,” she responded plainly, extracting her very last ether from behind a cluster of potions before shutting the cabinet and she turning back toward him. The apprehensive look she was met with was all she needed to see to know she’d hit the mark.

Meeting his gaze with a kindhearted smile, she quickly moved around to the other side of the counter and took his hand, pulling him to his feet and away from that wooden deathtrap of a furnishing. “Come on,” she said, walking backwards and pulling him along. “The couch’s more comfortable.”

“These don’t give you a migraine?” Shuyin asked quizzically as they sat down, Lenne holding the bottle out to him. Taking it, he peered at the almost sickly purple liquid within. “Last time I had one of these I woke up in the middle of the night thinking someone was trying to break my forehead open.”

“I’ve probably built up an immunity by now. I’ve been drinking them forever,” Lenne answered, shrugging before almost unconsciously tilting to the side and resting her head against his shoulder (thank goodness he wasn’t wearing those shoulder-guards at the moment; that would have been rather uncomfortable). She felt him pause for a moment before shifting to accommodate her, the pop of the ether bottle’s cork being removed sounding right after.

“Bottoms up,” he said, rather unenthusiastically, before downing his half of the tonic and promptly gagging. Making a disgusted, throaty noise, he held the bottle out to her, all too pleased to be rid of it. “That stuff’s gross,” he said, face twisted so extensively in revulsion that Lenne couldn’t help but laugh.

“ _I_ like it,” she rejoined, plucking it from his hands.

“Don’t see how you could,” Shuyin said, shaking his head. “A malboro would die drinking that.”

Shaking her own head, Lenne sat up, happily downing the remains of the thick, sour-apple tasting liquid. It really wasn’t _that_ bad, she reasoned, once one got used to it. Almost immediately, she could feel a soft warmth running through her, a welcome alternative to the uncomfortable fuzzy feeling that came with casting too much magic too quickly.

“So,” she said, resting her hands on her knees and leaning over, “what’s on your mind? Something’s bugging you.”

“Well, it’s . . .” Shuyin started before quickly and anxiously trailing off, scrapping the sole of his shoe against the floor distractedly. “See, I kind of . . .yeah, I lied. I kind of did come to tell you something.”

“I thought so,” Lenne said, absently tracing a seam above his knee before glancing back up at him, smiling gently, and brushing a bit of hair away from his eyes. “You’re kind of easy to read.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“That’s not necessarily a _bad_ thing,” she amended, adding a kiss for good measure. “You’re just . . . passionate. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

“If you think so,” he answered, shrugging a little.

“I do. Anyway, sorry. You were saying?”

“All right,” he said, taking a deep breath to regain his composure before leaning back and fixing his gaze unblinkingly on the ceiling. “The other day Nirui finally drove the right people crazy. She just made a deal with a private owner to use their cruiser, and the officials okayed it. We’re going out for training again soon.”

Hearing that, Lenne couldn’t help but let her jaw drop the slightest bit. “Really?” she said, unable to keep from grinning rather stupidly. “Shuyin,” she all but squealed in elation, grabbing his hands and holding them between hers, “that’s great! I’m so happy for you!”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, fidgeting beneath her grasp as his eyes flitted about almost guiltily, looking at everything but her. “But . . .”

Slowly, Lenne’s smile faded, a look of confusion almost immediately taking its place. Releasing his hands, she reached up, gently cupped his chin, and lifted it, trying to get a better look at his eyes. At first, he was reluctant to meet her gaze, staring her shoulder or elbow instead as a sort of subtle rebellion. However, he eventually yielded, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers. When he did, she felt him cringe a bit beneath her fingers.

He looked frightened, she immediately realized. A closed-off sort of frightened, as if he were braced for the worst to come crashing down on him. Right alongside that—and by some miracle even more prevalent—was guilt, layering his features so extensively that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been dunked in it. Definitely not the reaction she had expected from talking about blitzball. Effectively subdued, she let her hand fall to her lap, inattentively tugging at the fabric there. “But?”

“Well, you know how Nirui is,” Shuyin said, attempting a cheerful smile but looking more like he’d broken his jaw. “She doesn’t sit still for anyone, and she thinks we’ve spent too much time laying around. Gotta be in top shape for next season, and all. Can’t embarrass her like we did before. That whole thing, ya know.”

“And this means . . .?” Lenne prodded cautiously, stomach twisting in horrible anticipation and hands curling into fists upon her knees.

“Well,” he said, voice quiet as if, were his words not heard, the problem would just up and disappear, “she wants to start working us again. So, she’s taking us out to sea. You know, where we won’t have any distractions. Basically, she wants to make up for all the time we’ve missed, so she’s taking us out for longer than normal.” After a quick pause, he cryptically added, “A _lot_ longer than normal.”

For an instant, the world slowed to nearly a stop around Lenne, the meaning of his words clicking into place almost slowly enough for her to feel it happening. Her departure date was in one month. He was leaving. It didn’t take anymore explaining than that. Then, her heart beat, she let out a shallow breath, and the world went back to running at break-neck speed, leaving her choke and flounder in its wake.

He was leaving. Shuyin was leaving. She was leaving right after. He wouldn’t make it back in time. She would never see him aga—

“Hey,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet and thick with just a touch of panic, “don’t make that face.” Slowly, his fingers shaking faintly against her jaw and cheeks, his hands slid across her face, tilting her head up. He was smiling at her when she raised her eyes, the small upturn at the corners of his lips almost as sweet as his voice. However, that smile wasn’t nearly enough to mask everything else that was painted across his brow and shining in his eyes. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he was going to break.

Placing a kiss against her lips, he ran a thumb gently along her cheek, seemingly doing everything in his power to keep that watery smile of his from fading. “Come on, I’m coming back. It’s just for a little while is all. Really.”

She wanted to believe him. More than anything else right then, she wanted to believe those pretty words, believe that he would come home and everything would be okay and she’d kiss him stupid right there in front of Yevon and everyone. She wanted to believe that he would be right there when she handed her life over to the guards at the barricade along with her passport.

And yet, she couldn’t. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, eyes all guilt and grief and panic wrapped up in gorgeous blue. Maybe it was his voice, weak and thin behind his honeyed words. Maybe it was the way he started to kissed her, slow and gentle at first, and then fervent, almost desperate, like every time was the last. Whatever it was, despite what she wanted to believe, she couldn’t help but think that if fibs were acid, he’d have no tongue left.

Numbly, she felt one of his hands, hot and quivering, slide across her shoulder blades, guiding her to her back as he swiftly kissed a line across her jaw. That felt nice at least, she thought vaguely as she rested her head against the cushion beneath her. However, through the messy, deadening haze of thoughts that was engulfing her mind, she found only the sense to shut her eyes and tilt her head, allowing him access to her neck.

Meanwhile, she had another thing with which to contend besides her own doubt and gloom, though it too was of her own making. Even beneath the smoldering warmth of the man over her, she could feel a sick sort of twinge, a parasite worming its way about her flesh. A selfish little voice, clawing its way up from the back of her mind where she had tried to store it away. _How could he?_ It said. _How could he do this?_

Her face scrunched up slightly, she shook the voice off as best she could, her gloom-exhausted mind only working at half speed, it seemed. She couldn’t think like that. Shuyin had a life of his own. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t expect his world to revolve around hers. It shouldn’t have had to, anyway. He shouldn’t have been forced to stay for her sake.

“Lenne?” came his voice once again. Gradually opening her eyes, she stared up at him silently, noting his confused expression. Blinking slowly, she watched as the confusion on his face morphed into embarrassment, and then remorse quickly after. It took a moment for her to realize why. As still as she was, she probably looked more like a doll than a person. “Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, eyes trained upon the floor as he climbed off of her, the sudden absence of his warmth making her shiver.

Tilting her head up a bit, she watched as he retook his spot at the edge of the couch—her legs, now starting to get a bit cramped, had never really made it all the way onto the sofa, and thus he was left with just enough room to sit. Clamping his hands together, he leaned his forehead against them, looking like some sort of dismal gargoyle the way he was hunched over and his face hidden by his hair. Slowly, feeling as if lead were roiling in her stomach and weighing her down, Lenne sat up, running a hand absently through her now tangled mane of hair and quietly eying the disheveled blonde beside her.

Maybe what he was saying was true. Maybe he would be back, and all her worrying would be for nothing. He’d probably make a joke of it, accusing her of not trusting him and feigning hurt until she kissed it better. Yet, if her guess was right, if he really didn’t make it back in time, this was not the way to spend their last night together.

Taking a breath, Lenne brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, got to her feet, and walked over to stand before him. “Shuyin,” she said quietly, taking his hands, moving them away from his face, and giving him what she hoped was a convincing smile when he finally decided to look up at her with those lost, nearly puppy-like eyes.

As she crawled into his lap, gently rubbing the edge of his mouth and quietly saying that a frown didn’t suit him, she told herself not to think about it. It would just distract her; remind her of everything she didn’t want to think about. This wasn’t about that. This was about her, and this was about Shuyin. The man who acted confident in the face of her jokes but had to suppress a whine when she found just the right spot to kiss (not that she had been much better; however, as she had joked while gently grazing her fingers across his bare stomach, she hadn’t outright whined _once_ ). This was about making tonight a good one. A special one, for both of them.

Even so, the thought still plagued her incessantly, worming its way into the forefront of her mind amongst the sounds of Shuyin’s whispered sweet-nothings and her own longing sighs. It was a constant, she realized reluctantly, the thing that told her over and over again _why_ this had to be special, _why_ she wanted to memorize him, _why_ she wanted to hear him say those sweet little endearments like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Even as she tried to brush it aside, it remained at the very edge of her consciousness; a metaphorical throbbing that would not be ignored. Eventually, she simply gave in, hiding her sigh of frustration in another of pleasure as she threw her arms haphazardly about his neck and nestled into his shoulder. There it remained, a dark little reminder to her that she’d better make it good, because this was the _last_ time.

Yet, despite all that, she was somehow still surprised the next morning when she woke up alone, wrapped in her covers with care, and with a tear that wasn’t hers on her cheek.


	14. Chapter 14

He never should have stayed, Shuyin told himself yet again as he trudged up another steep incline, brittle bits of packed snow crunching loudly beneath his feet. It’d been nearly a week now since his slapdash flight from Lenne’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, and he still couldn’t manage to force that dismal thought from his mind. Even now, when he should have been focusing on where he was stepping, his thoughts still wandered to that simple fact as he tried to ignore the icy, howling wind that lashed at his face.

He should’ve stuck to the plan, he berated himself for what felt like the millionth time. He should’ve just gone to see her, told her his lie, kissed her goodbye, and left. It still would’ve been hard, but at least that would’ve been the easiest possible way.

But no, that would’ve made life easier, Shuyin thought bitterly. Couldn’t have _that,_ now could he?Instead, he’d opted to wake up with a horrible, ether-induced headache, throw his clothes on in the greenish-gray light of dawn, and sneak out as if Lenne had been no more than some drunken one-night stand. Sufficed to say, by the time he’d reached the elevator and punched the appropriate buttons, the idea of throwing himself out the window at the opposite end of the hallway had become incredibly tempting. In the end, however, he’d settled for leaving a nice, big dent in the elevator wall instead (it was hours before his knuckles stopped throbbing and his throat didn’t feel like it had been ripped to shreds).

Of course, the wretchedness of the situation hadn’t stop there. That would’ve just been _too_ easy. Once he’d gotten back to his own apartment, he’d been in such a rush to get everything together and get moving as soon as possible, that he’d somehow managed to forget all the remedies he’d meant to bring and at least three hi-potions—there was probably more missing than just that too, now that he thought about it. It would be just his luck to be hit with darkness and then find out he didn’t have any eyedrops. Basically, by the time he’d actually started on his way to the checkpoint, Hero Drink in hand and as much determination in his step as he could muster, the day had successfully become one of the worst of his life.

However, as much as he tortured himself with thoughts of what he should have done, a part of him knew that he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off anyway. Not after he’d glanced up and seen that look on Lenne’s face. Just one look at that shaken, forlorn, and utterly crushed expression, and every ounce of his willpower had simply evaporated. He had been at the mercy of her will. He was just thankful she was a better person than he, and hadn’t asked him to stay. As much as he’d tried to steel himself to her influence, he still knew in his heart that, had she made that request, he wouldn’t have been able to say no.

Of course, despite all that had been perpetuated in that expression of hers, Lenne still hadn’t cried, just like he’d predicted. Like so many times before, she’d put on her brave face, smiling at him comfortingly like the despair of a moment before had been completely forgotten. Oh, if she’d only known what that consoling smile of hers _really_ did to him. But then, that was Lenne, he mused. She had just enough comfort for everybody else.

Just as he was lapsing back into that state of misery that accompanied nearly every recollection of that wretched escape of his, Shuyin felt a crack and fizzle against his palm, and the heat sphere he had held to his chest went out. Cursing under his breath, he pulled the little orange ball from beneath his collar and held it up to eye level, scrutinizing it in hopes of finding a means of bringing it back to life. It was almost his last working heat sphere after all, and though the amount of heat it let off was measly at best, it was still heat. That was a rare enough commodity on Gagazet to make any necessary repairs to this tiny, temperamental heat-supplying mechanism worthwhile.

Unfortunately, even after a detailed search of the orb’s entire surface, he found nothing but frosted, lukewarm Plexiglas swiftly growing cooler beneath his fingers. Narrowing his eyes at the orb, Shuyin snarled (a rather strange sound, when coupled with his chattering teeth) and, for lack of a better thing to do, started shaking it. Maybe, if he was lucky, he might just end up knocking the right part back into place, and that would be that.

And then his feet found a nice, slippery plate of ice. Before he even realized it, they suddenly weren’t beneath him anymore, and with a screamed curse, he was sent tumbling, heels over head, straight back down the hill. For a few terrifying seconds, all he could comprehend was the white powder filling his eyes, the sting of the thick, packed snow as he bounced against it like a mage’s doll, and the horrifying knowledge that on either side of this ledge was a sheer drop to death-knew-where.

Then, flailing like a chocobo with its tail caught in a coyote’s teeth, he nose-dived straight into a snow bank.

Blinking as best he could with his face pressed against a hard-packed sheet of snow, Shuyin slowly turned himself over (not an easy task, considering his pack was now thoroughly soaked and thus that much heavier) and pushed himself up, his upper-half popping out of the powdery ditch with surprising ease. Moving with a sort of slowness that can only come with the abating of intense shock, he reached up and brushed a few snowflakes from his eyes before glancing up at the rather impressive trail he’d left behind.

It was almost mesmerizing, thinking that he’d fallen all that way. Even as terrified as he’d been the entire way down, it hadn’t felt like it’d taken _that_ long. That winding, chaotic scar that he’d left behind ran down almost the entire slope, excluding a sparse few feet at the very crest.

At the very crest. At the top. He’d almost been at the top. It’d taken him twenty minutes to get that far. Or, at least, it had _felt_ like twenty minutes. Regardless, it’d taken a long time. Now he had to climb it all over again, against that biting wind and with his now thoroughly soaked backpack weighing him down.

A thick, guttural whine in his throat, he fell backward in resignation, powder flying up around him as he was once again submerged in the snowy trench. This mountain hated him for some reason, and after this little incident, he could honestly say that he hated it right back.

\--- 

‘Interesting’ was probably the nicest way that Shuyin could describe the week and a half that he’d spent on Gagazet hitherto. Though he’d had a near-perfect view of the mountain and the storms that raged on it for his entire life, he’d still been nowhere near ready when he’d begun the task of scaling it.

The easiest part, surprisingly, had been the one that he’d been most worried about, and coincidentally the most prepared for. As wide awake as he had been the morning of his departure—thanks to both his pounding head and misery-roiled stomach—sneaking passed the bleary-eyed guards with the assistance of only half a Hero Drink had been laughably easy. Frankly, as he’d rounded the corner and passed out of sight of the guards, it’d looked like things were going to go far more smoothly than he’d planned.

Then he’d stepped into the caves, lost sight of Zanarkand, and things had started to quickly go downhill.

Though he’d known beforehand that his chances of getting all the way to Bevelle without encountering at least one fiend were slim to none, he’d been hoping to run into something weak for his first fight. Something like a coyote or a gecko to break him in gently. Unfortunately, as could have been expected, his luck hadn’t been nearly that good.

A sparse few feet into the caves, before he’d even lost sight of the entrance, he’d run into his first fiend: a snarling, purple-furred beast, standing on its back legs and towering over Shuyin with wide eyes and obvious bloodlust. Well. So, _that_ was a behemoth. Somehow, Lenne’s lesson on fiends (during which she had covered not only behemoths, but ochus, stalwarts, malboros, and anything else that she had deduced as being a fiend to stay away from at all costs) hadn’t quite prepared him for _that_.

Shuyin had had just enough time for his eyes to widen and a tiny, horrified whine to escape his throat before one of those mammoth paws had connected with the side of his head and he had been sent spiraling to the caves’ jagged, rocky floor. While he’d been able to make a frenzied escape right after, it was with the assurance that he’d soon be short a few potions.

That hadn’t been the worst part of the excursion, unfortunately. When he’d reached the caves’ exit, said damp, musty, clammy cavern hadn’t seemed all that bad in comparison to what he found without. As he’d stepped passed the lip of the cave, the ferocious wind had hit him like a brick wall, slamming him up against the rock wall to his left as he scrambled to regain his footing. Meanwhile, as he’d clung to the rocks and tried to pull himself upright, he’d gotten dangerously close to biting his tongue clean off, as rapidly as his teeth were chattering (that was one thing about Gagazet that he’d quickly noticed and grown to hate: it was _cold_ ).

To make things worse, right about then had been when his food supply started to run low. He’d expected that to happen of course, since he’d purposefully packed less food to save room for everything else he’d needed to bring. But then, he’d expected that small ration would last him at least until he’d reached Gagazet’s base. From what he knew, after that was just a seemingly endless stretch of tundra, and something edible had to have been living in that (that had been the theory, anyway). Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on having the inability to ration properly, not to mention an infuriatingly insatiable appetite and very little restraint. Thus, he found himself stuck on what had to be the most barren bit of land in all of Spira, with almost no food and no clear way to get any.

At one point, when what was left of his provisions had only amounted to half a piece of bread and some specks of fruit still clinging to otherwise bear pits, he was so desperate for food that he’d simply thrown good common sense to the wind and had tried to eat a fiend. Afterwards, he’d almost had to feel bad for the poor ahriman that had the misfortune of encountering him just as he had been entertaining delusions of what a fiend might taste like (unfortunately, during his famine-induced fit of desperation, he’d somehow forgotten that fiends were spirit-beings; hours later, he’d still been coughing on pyreflies).

However, by some miracle of fate, he’d somehow managed to survive on a couple of unlucky little creatures, like mountain rabbits that had made the fatal mistake of venturing from their hollow's and passing by him and some bits of food he’d gotten after defeating certain fiends. _That_ was so uncommon an occurrence that, on one such occasion, he’d honestly started to cry from happiness.

In addition to food, sleep was another issue that had been much more difficult on Gagazet than he ever remembered it being in Zanarkand. Whatever time he hadn’t spent killing fiends and finding food had promptly been taken up with finding any shelter he could, be it a gaping cavern or the tiniest of tiny fissures (and, as was his luck, the latter was by far the most common). Plus, ethers had become an intensely precious commodity throughout the duration of his journey. As low as his mental capacity for magic was, he found himself in need of one nearly every time he had to cast Firaga. And, given that having a Firaga burning had been—and still was—the only real way to survive through the night on that blasted mountain, he’d been downing them as quickly and frequently as if they had actually tasted decent. Sufficed to say, those ether-headaches of his had been practically ceaseless.

That had been about the extent of his travels so far, and unfortunately, it didn’t seem like things were going to change anytime soon. Still shivering quite extensively and aching from his tumble down the hill (and with no heat sphere this time, as it had disappeared during his aforementioned fall), he narrowed his eyes to the bitter, howling wind, looking in every direction for someplace to bed down. Though he couldn’t see it, he could tell the sun was nearing the end of its far-too-quick descent; everything was suddenly much darker than it had been only an hour before, and he realized that it wouldn’t be long until the entire mountain was plunged into nearly impenetrable darkness. Needless to say, he didn’t want to be out and about when _that_ happened.

Then, just as he was coming around a cluster of boulders about twice as tall as he was, he spotted it: a tiny hollow in the mountain, made nearly invisible by the raging blizzard around him, but still nonetheless there.

Like a rodent with a predator hot on its tail, Shuyin practically dove into the tiny hole, letting out a sigh of relief when he was finally out of reach of that brutal whiteout. Admittedly, he was still defenseless to the biting cold, given that no place on Gagazet was impenetrable to _that_ , but at the moment he didn’t feel the slightest urge to complain. At the very least, he was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with the wind and the flying bits of ice it carried. Those, he knew, were ten times worse than the cold. Besides, all he needed to do was cast Firaga, and this dreary little place would be nice and cozy—or, at least, as nice and cozy as a hole in the side of a desolate mountain could be.

Slowly, Shuyin flipped himself over onto his stomach, groaning the entire way. His body still ached something fierce from that fall, and all the walking he’d done before and after hadn’t helped much. Frankly, by now he was so tired that even the simple task of rolling from his back to his stomach was almost too much for him to handle. Sufficed to say, he definitely needed some sleep.

Peeling his ragged, soaked pack from his shoulders and propping himself up on his elbows, he rummaged through it, digging amongst the grubby spare clothes and bits of long since spoiled food in search of an ether. It really was annoying, he mused, how quickly his fortitude for magic casting ran out. He really should have worked on strengthening it a bit more, instead of just his casting options. It would have definitely come in handy right about now.

As he continued grumbling to himself about that aggravating little shortcoming, he likewise continued to dig through the shabby, frayed pack, the degree of his annoyance increasing with every ether-less second that passed. Why was it so damn hard to find a single ether? He’d have thought that being able to find things faster would have been the one upside to having a small pack. However, he thought as he dug out a soaking wet shirt and threw it to the side in frustration, he was _obviously_ mista—

And suddenly, he almost wished he hadn’t moved the shirt. There, crushed against the bottom of the pack, were three empty support item packets, stuck to the cloth with what he could only guess had been their previous contents.

For an instant, he could do little more than stare at them. They must have burst during his fall, he thought, in that tiny part of his mind that still could. He _had_ fallen on his pack pretty hard, and they were in just the right place . . . Shit. Shitshit _shit_. Slowly, his fingers shaking, he reached into the pack and scooped up the broken packets. His hand got covered in sticky potion-goo in the process, but he didn’t have the available mental capacity to really care about that.

They were probably just hi-potions, he told himself. Just normal, everyday, completely expendable hi-potions. He’d been saving them up for when he really needed them after all, so there’d been at least a good dozen or so occupying the bag by the time he fell. Meanwhile, he had used up all but one ether from the immense supply that he’d amassed before his departure. Basically, for once, the odds were on his side.

Flipping the sticky plastic packets over and holding them up to the hollow's minimal light, he leaned forward, squinting at the bottom corner of each of them, where the name of their contents were written. Hi-potion, hi-potion . . .

Though the statistics had been on his side, he’d apparently once again failed to gain the much more influential favor of luck. There in his hand, against all the odds that he’d used to comfort himself but a moment before, were two empty hi-potions packets, and one equally empty ether packet.

Screaming in frustration, he violently threw the little bits of plastic off to the side. Though watching them smash against the side of the hovel would have made him feel at least a tiny bit better, he apparently wasn’t even entitled to that, and they gently fluttered to the ground a few feet away. Curling into himself, he buried his face in his hands, frantically trying to pull himself together (the fact that one side of his face was now sticky with potion-goo did nothing to improve his thinking ability or overall mood).

What was he going to do? That had been his very last ether, a fact that he had grudgingly ascertained the night before when he’d done inventory on the contents of his bag out of boredom and the need to do so. So, he was ether-less, and as he was now, he had barely enough left in him to even cast a simple Fire. A spell that weak wouldn’t even catch in a field of dry grass on a hot summer day with a gentle wind to help it along, so it definitely wouldn’t catch under conditions like these.

What it all came down to was the simple, irrefutable fact that he wasn’t going to have a fire tonight, and at the moment, he could think of no worse trick for the world to play on him. If he didn’t have a fire, he knew that by the time the sun came up the next morning, the fiends would be treating themselves to a nice, big Shuyin-sicle. Even if he had shelter, kept as far away from the entrance as possible, and did everything in his power to keep warm sans-fire, he knew that once he fell asleep, he would not be waking up.

Frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he pushed himself up against the hollow's wall, resting his forehead against his knees and trying to calm himself down. This wasn’t fair. He was maybe a day or two from the mountain’s base, if that. He could have swiped an ether off some particularly loaded fiend on the way, and all would have been fine and dandy. But _no_. Life just _had_ to pull the rug out from under him when he least needed it, just like it always had. Or, at least, like it had since he started this little mission.

Curling even further into himself, like a child frightened by the dark, his thoughts turned to home. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be back there, safe and relatively warm, artificial light shining obnoxiously through his makeshift curtains while that sweet alto voice that all of Zanarkand loved murmured bits of nothing in his ear. . .

Turning his head, he gazed out at the path he’d just been on, though by now he was just able to see a basic, grayish outline of it. The owner of that voice would be coming through here soon, he thought. A few weeks from now at the latest. She and the other summoners would go speeding through here without a second glance, carried along by Yevon-sanctioned hovers so that they would all be strong enough to take out at least a machina or two before being blown to bits.

Gritting his teeth at the thought and forcing the resulting grizzly images from his mind before they really had time to form, he continued to stare at the path, watching as the mountain’s constant barrage of snow viciously beat down upon it.

If he died up here, he realized, those thoughts and mental pictures wouldn’t be just the workings of his unfortunately overactive imagination. If he failed, if he died without reaching Bevelle, it would become the reality that he had been doing everything in his power to keep from unfolding. All because he’d broken his last ether packet, and died in the most astonishingly stupid manner possible.

For a moment, he paused, eyes narrowed at the dreary, bleak picture beyond his safe little hovel. If he died, Lenne died. That’s what it came down to.

That was all he needed to know.

Half an instant later, he was snatching up everything he’d pulled from his pack, shoving it back in haphazardly. Most of it was still soaked, either from his fall or by lying in the snow by the hollow's entrance too long, but he didn’t bother giving the matter any of his attention.

Before tying the sack closed again, he felt about inside, extracting two spheres after a few moments of searching. One was a deadened looking orange, the other clear. His last heat and light spheres, respectively. Giving them both a good shake (while taking extreme care not to smash them against the hovel’s ceiling) they sprang to life, the first instantly warming beneath his fingers and the second filing the entire cavern with a brilliant light.

Quickly, he threaded his arms through the straps of his pack and tucked the heat sphere snuggly against his chest. Holding the light sphere out before him, he took a moment to remind himself that these spheres weren’t going to last very long, and once they went out, he’d be all on his own. No backups, no in-case-of-emergency extra supply, none of that. Right now, with darkness descending around him like an omen and the wind whipping relentlessly about the mountain, all too ready to send him flying from an unfortunately placed ledge, it was all or nothing.

Taking a deep breath and nodding resolutely, he pushed himself back out onto the path, held the sphere out before him, and swiftly started walking. Gagazet could throw anything it had at him, he thought, but he was _not_ going to go down without a fight.

\---

His bones, muscles, and joints protested ferociously, with every step threatening to give way completely and throw him into the nearest snowdrift. Then again, it didn’t seem like _that_ horrible of a plan, given that there was lying down involved. He felt half-dead by now, being both physically weak and mentally drained. Still, the little, fatigue-muffled part of him that fully understood his peril continued to force him onward, ignoring such remonstrations. Shuyin-sicle, he reminded himself fervently. Shuyin-sicle bad. Shuyin-sicle _very_ bad . . .

Fat specks of ice bit into his cheeks and stuck in his eyes, though really he needn’t have had them open anyway. As he had predicted, the spheres hadn’t lasted very long, having endured only an hour or two at best before giving out completely. Now, he was without both light and heat, and he couldn’t even see his own hand as he reached up to wipe the frost from his face, nor could he feel anything particularly well.

This, unfortunately, compromised his speed. If he moved too slowly, freezing to death was practically a guarantee. If he moved too quickly, slipping off of the steep, slippery path and falling to a painful death became fearfully likely. By any means, they were tough circumstances to juggle, and his sleep-deprived mind really didn’t have the capacity to deal with it all.

Regardless, he pressed onward, his numb feet unconsciously moving him along. All the while, he did his best to not think about the wind or the cold or the dark that imperiled him, though at the same time used their presence to spur himself forward. It was a difficult balance to maintain for certain, and more than once he found himself going from dangerously clumsy to impedingly meticulous.

As the hours (or was it minutes? He didn’t really have the mind to differentiate at the moment) ticked by and he steadily grew wearier, his senses became hardened to the threats of the world around him. The roar of the wind slowly became quieter and quieter, until it was but a lazy purr in his ear. Likewise, the biting cold died to a mere sting, unable to overwhelm his numb body. Eventually, it all became like something very far away; something he knew he should feel, but somehow wasn’t able to.

It was right about then that his weary joints finally yielded. Suddenly, before he even realized that his ankles and knees had failed him, he found himself face-first in the snow, the pain from crashing to the hard-packed earth just barely registering. Apparently, the wind and cold had made his mind numb, too.

Turning his frozen hands over and pressing his palms to the ground, he tried to push himself up, his body shaking with the burden of its own weight. He had to get up, he told himself weakly. He _had_ to get up. He would freeze to _death_ —

Shuyin’s elbows and wrists, however, were obviously in league with his other mutinous joints. Before he was even able to get his feeble knees underneath him, both elbows and wrists completely gave way, and he collapsed once again, cheek vaguely stinging where it struck the ground.

Blinking slowly, he simply lay there, trying to work up the energy to try again. It was just the pack, he reasoned. It was just too damn heavy. If he could just manage to writhe his way out of _that_ . . .But his arms were too weak. To weak and heavy. _Everything_ was too heavy. Legs, arms, everything. Nothing would move.

He had to be so close, he told himself. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but if his guess was right, it’d been long enough for him to be close to the base by now. He could make it, he knew he could. If only his body would _move_!

But, somehow, logic didn’t convince it. His body simply refused to budge, refused to go another step in such an utterly exhausted state. It had given up on him. And, even with all his determination and the horrifying knowledge that he would die up here if he passed out, without his body, his mind somehow couldn’t fight the pull of oblivion.

This wasn’t right, he thought, as he felt his eyes slide shut and the world around him fall even more out of focus. Wearily, he clawed at the ground, trying to dig his fingers into the packed ice. He’d draghimself down this mountain if that’s what it took! Of course, even _that_ was too much for him.

This wasn’t right, he thought one last time, as everything finally fell away. This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t _fair_.

\---

Lenne couldn’t focus. As hard as she tried to put everything out of her mind and concentrate solely on the task at hand, she just couldn’t seem to pull it off. There was too much on her mind, too many thoughts that stubbornly refused to be ignored.

Sighing, but not unclasping her hands nor getting to her feet, she momentarily paused in her praying, focusing instead on clearing her mind completely. It was uncomfortable, distancing her psyche from that of the Fayth so prematurely, but she knew it was necessary. Praying while at the mercy of her own thoughts would just be fruitless, after all.

The chamber around her was comfortably silent, save for the almost indistinguishable hum from the light spheres that lined the stone walls around her (though their light was feeble compared to that of the Fayth’s stone). It was a bit chilly too, the stone and cement with which the temple was built doing very little by way of insulation. Of course, given what she was trying to do, that chill didn’t keep her from working up a sweat.

Bringing her still intertwined hands to her forehead and brushing from it a few beads of said sweat, she took a quiet breath, speedily trying to force away the thoughts that so plagued her unwilling mind.

She wasn’t sure why she suddenly wasn’t able to keep these particular thoughts at bay. For the most part, she’d been able to do so quite effectively thus far, excluding a few particularly cold nights when her blankets just hadn’t been enough to really keep her warm and lull her to sleep before her mind had time to wander (apparently, she thought humorlessly, she’d gotten too used to sharing them).

She’d gone about her day to day life just as she always had: practicing magic, narrowing down her song choices for her upcoming concert, reading to chase off some boredom, getting sleep whenever possible. Though admittedly there hadn’t been much to her normal day, it was enough for her. Some of the time, she was just trying to stay busy enough to keep her eyes from wandering to the window, trying to see past the various cone- and cylinder-shaped buildings that blocked her view of the sea. That way, she could ignore that little bit of loneliness that nibbled away at the corner of her heart, a painful niggling that did nothing but drag her down. All in all, she was proud of herself on that front, given that she had kept such sorrowful occurrences to a minimum.

And yet now, she suddenly couldn’t do it. As hard as she tried to give her mind solely to the task of praying for the last and most powerful aeon in the cycle (it was an intimidating creature to say the least: an awkward yet powerful looking hybrid of flesh and machine that carried itself with a sort of unfitting grace) her mind kept drifting to a different temple. A temple where a formidable mosaic covered the floor and a set of stone steps provided every opportunity for a tired summoner to break a bone or four. He’d waited there for her, impatient but loyal, ready and willing to catch her at his own expense.

Then, from there her thoughts would flash to the antechamber of _this_ temple, a cold, echoy affair that she knew, without an auspicious shadow of a doubt, was completely empty. As much as she’d (hesitantly) entertained the idea as she’d made her way to the temple in the pale light of dawn, she knew that when she finally obtained the aeon and stepped out of the chamber, weak of joints and feeble of mind, he still wouldn’t be there.

With another quiet sigh, she let her hands fall away from each other and float down to her knees. Meanwhile, she let her gaze drift to the scratched, chipped edge of the Fayth’s stone, staring at it with hooded eyes but paying it no real attention. Sometimes, she mused, it felt like pretending she didn’t miss him was worse than the actual missing.

Suddenly, she felt something foreign (but not unrecognizable) pressing against the corner of her mind, urging her to close her eyes and retake her prayer stance. The Fayth, Lenne quickly realized, loosely lacing her fingers together and bowing her head, as directed.

It could tell how she was feeling, she thought. The Fayth could see into her mind to read her silent prayers well enough, so it only made sense that it could see her other thoughts as well. To say the least, it was a bit unnerving, knowing that the very being she was supposed to impress into bestowing her with its aeon could see just how distracted and unsure she really was.

However, the hot jab of agitation she’d expected to feel jolting through her psyche—the same reaction she received from the two previous Fayth whenever she so much as twitched the wrong way—didn’t come. There was a bit of strictness to its command, of course. It was _still_ an extremely powerful, practically omnipotent being despite its merciful amount of patience, and it demanded respect. However, there was a soft edge to its instruction, like a mother goading a child along. Come on, Lenne, she could all but hear it saying with its wordless urgings. Keep trying. This needs to be done.

In answer, Lenne gave the tiniest of nods, one that probably would have gone unnoticeable by anyone else, and clasped her hands even more firmly together. Exhaling sharply, she pushed her thoughts of loneliness as far away as she could. With that, she once again set herself upon the task of praying, mind momentarily clear of any other thoughts. They’d be back soon enough, she knew, like the most annoying of insects to a nearby light. However, she would just have to work around them, she convinced herself, and ignore them as best she could for the time being. Like the Fayth said, this had to get done.

\---

Why wouldn’t the ball go _in_? That shot had been perfect, Shuyin mentally wailed. He’d checked everything and set up perfectly before taking it, utterly determined to finally see that stupid blitzball land smack-dab in the back of the net. And yet, there it went, flying off in the completely wrong direction and right into the hands of a waiting opponent

Gritting his teeth and tugging at his hair out of sheer frustration, he couldn’t help but want to scream. He was _losing_. The other team didn’t even have a goal-keep, and he was _losing_. Of course, it didn’t help that they were incomparably fast, his shots never landed, and he was the only player on his side, but really! He should have at least gotten _something_ by now!

Then, without warning, the horn signaling a goal blasted through the sphere, seemingly right in his ear. Eyes widening nearly enough to encompass his entire face, he whipped around, starring at his goal in utter disbelief. There was the ball, floating in the back of net, bobbing around innocently as if to taunt him. What was going on? How could those other players make a goal that fast? He hadn’t even seen them _move_!

What he wouldn’t give to get out of this place, he mentally whined. Even as the ball cleanly landed in his hands and he started fervently speeding toward the opposition’s goal, his heart wasn’t in it. He’d had enough ego-thrashing for the night, and no matter how much he wanted to believe that he could somehow pull a win out of this, he knew it was just going to get worse. Honestly, he just wanted to go home and wallow in his own sorrow for a while. Or, better yet, to blow away that angst altogether, he thought, he could go see—

Suddenly, as he dove to avoid being tackled by a particularly brawny opposition player (frankly, Shuyin had no idea how that man could move so fast, given he looked like he could barely walk right with that much muscle weighing him down) he saw that there was something noticeably different about the sphere. Where a moment ago it had been just a plain old blitz sphere—a great mass of water that was completely empty if one didn’t count the players—its center all of a sudden wasn’t that empty anymore.

Sometime between the toss-up and now, the stage, which normally stayed tucked beneath the main arena, had silently ascended into the still intact sphere, its presence somehow not disturbing the water around it whatsoever. Frankly, neither the sphere nor the stage seemed at all affected by the other’s being there, as if they existed on two completely separate planes of reality. However, Shuyin wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to that. Instead, his focus was on the person upon the stage, the girl that had made it famous to him.

Her back was to him, feet sliding across the thick, glass-like plastic of the stage as she jerked out of a twirl and seemingly curled around her microphone, singing into it (at least, that’s what it looked like she was doing; he could hear none of it) with that same familiar vigor she brought to all her performances. Not that this could be construed as just any old performance, of course. Not only were she and the stage completely submerged, but no matter how she moved, not a ripple resulted from it. Even as she threw one arm back, held the microphone up with the other, and seemingly shouted into it, not a single bubble issued from her mouth.

Forgetting the game for a moment, Shuyin let the ball slip from his hands as he slowly made for the stage, waving as best he could to get her attention. However, she was too focused on her silent performance to notice him.

A mere few feet from where she stood at the center of the stage, just as he straightened his body out and kicked a few times to work up one last burst of speed, Shuyin slammed straight into something flat and hard, pain shooting through the top of his head and along down his spine. Cursing and reeling backward erratically, his hands flew to the top of his head as he swung in place, searching for whatever it was that he’d hit. However, just as before, there was nothing to be seen but the stage and Lenne, who still somehow hadn’t noticed him.

Curious, he slowly released his still throbbing head and set down, feet somehow adhering to the stage just as they would had it _not_ been underwater. That done, he carefully reached forward, squinting as if that would somehow help him see what he had hit. There _had_ been something there, he knew there had. He couldn’t have just slammed into nothing.

Not a moment later, his suspicions were confirmed. As he took a careful step forward, Shuyin felt his fingers brush against something; something that he couldn’t for the life of him see. Raising and eyebrow and blinking in confusion, he spread his hand out flat, running it across the invisible—and very hindering—object.

It was a wall, he realized as he set his other hand down, crab-walking it along the object’s surface. A long, tall, invisible wall, blocking him from Lenne. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the wall’s invisible surface, palms pressed flat against it on either side of him. Squinting at Lenne, who somehow _still_ hadn’t noticed him, he pulled away from the wall and knocked on it as loudly and firmly as he possibly could.

That got her attention. Almost immediately, Lenne lapsed in her soundless singing, casting a glance over her shoulder toward the source of the undoubtedly distracting noise. When she saw him, however, the surprised and slightly annoyed look on her face faded away, replaced with a smile. The smile, he realized, that she wore when she as trying to hide something.

That was when he noticed it. It looked almost like a shadow at first, or a few ripples made by her movements. However, as he once again leaned forward, his nose a scent centimeter from the invisible wall, he realized that it was neither.

It was her reflection. At least, that’s what it looked like. However, it didn’t really fit the necessary parameters, he noticed after a moment of careful inspection through narrowed eyes. It was extremely fuzzy for one, fuzzier than anything should have been to his water-accustomed eyes. For another, it seemed like less of a reflection and more of an extension of her, criss-crossing and melding with her form like dye in a glass of water.

Leaning over still further and pressing his face to the glass, he focused even harder on the mysterious non-reflection, trying to see it more clearly.

That, for some reason, was when Lenne started to panic. Or, more appropriately for Lenne, panic, but pretend that everything was perfectly fine. Clasping her hands behind her back and leaning over a bit, she smiled as sweetly as possible, and waved at him assuredly. Saying nothing was wrong, he realized after a moment. Nothing to worry about. Everything was fine. She was fine.

And suddenly, the non-reflection had a face. Not a very well defined face by any measure, but a face nonetheless. Lenne’s face, but, somehow—he had to squint even more, focus even harder to be sure—not Lenne’s face, for there was something about it that he had never seen from her before. Something that, when he finally saw it, made him gasp and choke on his own watery breath.

She was crying. Eyes puffy and face covered in ugly red tear-splotches, her hands were clamped around her upper arms, almost tightly enough to snap the bones into splinters, her entire body shaking from the force of her sobs. He only saw it clearly for half a second, however. Hardly an instant after he set his eyes upon her, the non-reflection’s gaze shot up to meet his own, misery so sharp behind those red and swollen eyes of hers that he felt he’d been sliced clean in two by the mere sight of it. That, of course, did little for him as he once against sucked in a breath from alarm, the water he inhaled like fire upon his fragile lungs (what was he doing, breathing while underwater? He’d gotten past that _years_ ago!). Then, almost instantly, the non-reflection ducked behind its partner, the Lenne that was still waving and smiling like there was nothing in the world he needed to worry about. Everything was fine. She was fine. No mind to be paid to the crying girl. She was _fine_.

She didn’t want him to see, he thought dazedly as he choked once again, precious bubbles of air issuing from his mouth and shooting toward the surface of the sphere like so many fireflies released from a jar. Groggily, his vision slowly going fuzzy from lack of oxygen, he clawed at the wall, doing everything he could to stay upright.

On the other side, just beyond his reach, she was still smiling. Smiling that fake little smile that that meant everything was all right. That fake little smile she didn’t want him to see past. That fake little smile that hid everything she was really feeling and didn’t want him to see. If he saw, he could practically feel her thinking, then the weight of it would be on him. No, she’d bear it on her own, he thought as he slowly slid to his knees, fingernails scrapping weakly down the wall as he went. Didn’t want to make him help.

Wasn’t ready to let him.

The buzzer was going off again, the sound an angry roar in his ears as he fell to his side, then onto his back, staring upward almost sightlessly. It _wouldn’t stop buzzing_. It made his head throb. Sharp, angry throbs that would have made him scream in pain had he had the ability. And still, he could see the air—oh sweet mother, he could _feel it_ —practically bursting from his lungs, little bits of life drifting from his ceaselessly.

The buzzing wouldn’t stop. The throbbing wouldn’t stop. It just wouldn’t _end_.Pain and sound, pain and sound. The buzzing and the throbbing and the air and the—oh Lenne, the _air_. It was _pyreflies_ —

_Kweh_.

Suddenly, the earth gave a violent shudder, as if trying the shake away whatever it was that had made that strange little chirping. He didn’t feel it, of course; he couldn’t feel much of anything at that point. Plus, it didn’t help that the stage beneath and the water around him didn’t so much as budge with the coming of these tremors. However, he knew it was there, somehow, and he’d heard the noise that caused it. Kweh? That couldn’t be the buzzer . . .

Then, there it was again: _kweh_ , right beside his ear. However, this time, the world didn’t quake at the sound of it. Instead, like a part of a machine suddenly clicking into place after a long, taxing series of movements, time shifted gently to the right, and then seemingly stopped, everything but him freezing where it stood. Then, just as quickly, it began to melt away; the arena, the sphere, the stage, Lenne, bits of color and shadow blending together until there was nothing there but complete blackness.

No, that wasn’t right. There was something else. The throbbing was still there. He could still feel it, pulsating in the top of his head and—wait, no. It _wasn’t_ throbbing. It was . . . something _else_.

Head snapping up quickly enough to give him whiplash, Shuyin threw his arms out, batting at whatever it was that was thumping against the top of his head. Before he was even able to orient himself, another, much more frightened shriek of _kweh_ split the air, and he was promptly smacked upside the head with something surprisingly yellow and fluffy. However, as yellow and fluffy as it had been, the impact was still enough to send him tumbling a good few feet before he came to a stop, blinking stupidly in the vicious light of the sun with his stunned-motionless body propped awkwardly atop uneven ground. What in the name of Spira was _that_?

His head tilting but an inch or two, Shuyin cautiously looked up, completely unsure what to expect. However, when he finally set eyes on his ‘attacker’, its identity somehow still managed to shock him.

It was a chocobo. A real, live chocobo, all orange talons and beak and yellow fluff, standing but a few feet away with its inquisitive eyes fixed firmly upon him. He couldn’t see a bridle anywhere on the mammoth bird. Every chocobo he had ever seen had been firmly bridled and meticulously trained, lest it break free and go on a rampage through Zanarkand’s packed streets. Seeing one without a bridle was definitely the exception, not the rule. Thus, he felt justified in giving the fluffy—yet still rather intimidating—creature an opened-mouthed stare. This thing wasn’t trained. This was a true, blue _wild_ chocobo. That, sufficed to say, did nothing for his composure.

Then, with one last cry of _kweh_ and a fervent flap of its wings (one that had Shuyin yelping in fear and throwing his arms in front of his face) the creature suddenly turned and sped off, kicking up dust in its wake. However, even after it had become a mere speck of color off in the distance, its chirped calls dying into nothingness as it went, he still couldn’t quite manage to pull himself together. What was going on? Why had he just been whacked upside the head by a giant disgruntled bird creature? Where was he? And why, in the name of all things holy, were there _wild chocobos_ the—

And then it all suddenly clicked into place. The broken ether, the mountain, passing out . . . Panicked, he ripped his hands away from where they were still resting atop his head and held them before his face, flexing his fingers and staring at them as if they somehow held the answer to why, exactly, he wasn’t dead. For a moment, he paused, wondering if he should somehow check on that. What if he _was_ dead? Did they have chocobos in the Farplane? That would’ve been a dead give away, right there.

But no, he wasn’t dead. At least, not if his still throbbing head (squinting suspiciously between his fingers in the direction the chocobo had gone, he silently damned the creature for having the hard beak he now suspected of causing his pain) was any indication. Can’t feel pain when you’re dead, after all. So, how had he . . .?

Wincing a bit from the pain it caused—now that he wasn’t terrified or consumed by a confusion-induced stupor, he was suddenly very aware of how sore he was—Shuyin turned to look over his shoulder, hoping that doing so would afford him more of an answer than staring at his hands had. He got his wish. There, towering over him as dauntingly as it ever had, was Mount Gagazet, storm clouds ravaging its frigid terrain right before his eyes. His gaze sliding downward, for the first time in a week and a half, he set eyes on the mountain’s base, not even a hundred yards away from him.

The base, he thought slowly, the channels of his mind congested with this new information. He was looking at the _base_ of Gagazet. That meant—Whipping around once again (and this time completely forgetting the pain), he stared out at the scene before him, truly looking at it for the first time.

It was the tundra. Miles upon miles of hot, dry, sun-scorched tundra, bits of yellowed grass dusting seemingly every bit of it. The sun, already high in the cloudless blue sky, beat down upon the entire expanse relentlessly, giving it a sort of burning warmth that, while on Gagazet, he had hardly dared to dream of. Off in the distance, he could see little bits of movement. Possibly native wildlife—like the chocobos, it would seem—but most likely fiends looking for their next unsuspecting victim. And yet, even knowing that little tidbit of information, he couldn’t do anything about the face-splitting grin that he could feel spreading across his face.

He’d made it. He’d gotten all the way down the mountain, somehow avoiding every twist and turn the wretched heap could throw at him, and by some miracle of fate had gotten to safety. All without realizing any of it.

And suddenly, his hands were wrapped around his stomach and he was laughing uncontrollably, entire body wracked with jabs of pain because of it and yet he really couldn’t have cared less. For the moment, he didn’t _care_ that every bit of him down to the tips of his hair hurt; didn’t _care_ that his bag was shoved uncomfortably into his back and that he could have been breaking every one of his hi-potion packets as a result; didn’t _care_ that he was probably attracting every fiend within a five mile radius. He didn’t care about anything right now. He’d made it. He was alive. _Alive_. And, though he knew that in a few moments he would be up and back to his trekking, grumbling and whining all the while about how sore he was, for now, he just wanted to bask in the rapture of the moment. He’d done it. Against all odds, he’d really, truly done it. He was alive, he was off Gagazet, and now it was just smooth sailing from here to Bevelle. The ball was back in his hands, and he was already halfway to the goal. It was a good feeling.

And this, he predicted, was going to be a very good day.


	15. Chapter 15

Back in Zanarkand, where even the slightest bit of vegetation was practically non-existent, the average person tended to regard nature as a sort of marvelous entity; a thing of fairy-tales, in a way. Nature was thought to be something wonderful, something far more beautiful and irreplaceable than the enormous metal towers and machina-driven devices that filled their everyday lives. At one point, Shuyin had been of the same mindset, even though his interest was fleeting at best.

However, he now had a very different opinion on the matter. As he lay there on the floor of Macalania Forest, face stinging where he’d been whipped by a low-hanging branch, ankles tangled in undergrowth, and lungs desperate for air after his swift, hard fall to the ground, he realized that nature was a in fact an evil, _evil_ thing. He’d take mechanism over _this_ any day.

He missed home, he mentally whined as he stared up at the stars, not bothering to get up just yet. Oh man, did he _ever_ miss home. It’d been nearly a month now since he’d left Zanarkand, and the closest thing to civilization that he’d encountered since then were just a few abandoned, dilapidated huts that somebody had seen fit to build in that middle-of-nowhere tundra (though, given that he’d taken full advantage of the protection they had provided for him during his excursion, as well as swiped most of the goodies their previous owners had left behind, he really had no room to scoff).

He missed not being able to sleep because the guys three doors down wouldn’t turn down their music. He missed the overly crowded streets that took hours to navigate even when you knew exactly where you were going, down to when you would be dodging the sausage cart. He missed getting punched in the nose during a game and then having the guys make fun of him while he used a dirty t-shirt to stem the bleeding and gave them the stink eye. And, even more than those things, he missed biting back fearful little yips as a sleeping Lenne kicked him in the thigh, and he prayed that her aim wouldn’t be getting any better anytime soon.

Unfortunately, such longings didn’t fade away with time, as he’d been hoping they would. The closer he got to Bevelle, it seemed, the stronger they got, to the point where he wanted nothing more than to turn around and sprint back to Zanarkand, mission and physical well-being be damned.

It had taken him a while to realize exactly why these wistful daydreams wouldn’t wither away and die like he’d wanted them to: they were a realization. The entrance to the Bevelle Highroad was but a sand worm’s step from here. He’d be getting there tonight. That meant the final stages of his plan, the real test and pinnacle of all his hard work these past few months, were about to begin. He was going to sneak into Bevelle, speed through the maze of the Underground, get Vegnagun, blow Bevelle to bits . . . and go down with it. As hopeful as he’d pretended to be before he’d left (to deceive both Yasuo and, in a way, himself), there really was no question about it. He was going to be blowing up Bevelle from below. It was going to collapse. And it was going to do it right on top of him. There was no way he was going to survive, and he was finally starting to understand that. That was why he yearning for those things back in Zanarkand, he realized as he slowly shut his eyes to the sky above: he was never going to see them again. He was never, ever going to go home.

But he wasn’t going to turn back. He’d come too far, worked too hard, and had far, far too much at stake to give in to fear now. So, he didn’t let himself think about it. As he took a deep breath, slowly pulled himself to his feet, and picked up his sword again (much to the displeasure of his aching hand) he pushed such foreboding thoughts as far away as possible. Then, he turned his attention once again to hacking and slashing at the heinous greenery in his path with renewed vigor. He could think about the consequences of his decision when Bevelle was falling in on him.

And yet, even then, he still reached his destination far sooner than he would have hoped. After finding the road—and twitching rather violently in frustration at the fact that he hadn’t been able to find this road _before_ he’d gone for that little trek through the woods—it was but a few minutes before he spotted a fracture in the cliffs: the entrance to Bevelle, with masked-and-helmeted sentries standing lazily on either side of it. He squinted at the two through the dark for a moment, watching as they chatted idly about whatever it was that Bevellian sentries chatted about (probably destroying peaceful machina cities, he thought bitterly). Good. They were distracted. Inattentive guards were easier to sneak by than alert ones, he’d noticed.

That figured out, Shuyin shrank back into the woods as stealthily as possible. While that admittedly wasn’t very stealthy, given that he was stepping on twigs and stumbling over bushes seemingly every few seconds, the sentries didn’t seem to notice. Ducking behind one of the largest and most concealing trees he could find, he flung his dirty and mangled bag to the ground at its roots. Quickly, he went for two things first and foremost: a new light sphere courtesy of the shacks in the middle of nowhere, and an elixir that he’d managed to nab off of a particular nasty fiend back in the tundra. After downing the latter substance (and briefly pausing to enjoy the sensation of his casting capacity and health returning to peak condition), he turned back to the pack and began digging through it in search of everything he would be taking with him.

Since he’d finally reached his destination, he was cutting back to just the bear essentials; basically, anything he could carry on his person and keep invisible. That meant his pack was out. If he tried carrying it on his back like normal, he knew that the chances of it turning invisible with the rest of him were slim to none. Meanwhile, there was no way he was going to be able to walk curled up around it like he had when leaving Zanarkand. The exit to Zanarkand was merely fifty or so feet long, while the entrance to Bevelle was several miles. Obviously, not going to work out. So, he had to cut back. He’d be taking his sword (which _had_ to be taken for protection purposes, though shoving it down his pant leg to keep it invisible along with the rest of him was _not_ something he was looking forward to), his last two Hero Drinks (though, admittedly, it would only be one by the time he actually got into Bevelle), a few elemental gems he’d picked up fighting fiends in the tundra, his remaining potion packets (both for if things got unexpectedly ugly), and his map of the Underground . . .

His map wasn’t there. Eyes widening to spectacular proportions, he upended the filthy rucksack with his free hand, not caring at the moment what got muddy or broken or just plain lost. Throwing his rag-esque extra clothes to the side after making sure that the map wasn’t folded up in them somewhere, he sifted frantically through the remaining items dotting the muddy earth. A chocobo feather, a bomb core, a poison fang . . . no map. He must have dropped it somewhere or, oh there was no way he could have—did he leave it _back in Zanarkand_? Now that he thought about it, the last time he remembered looking at it was back in his apartment the afternoon before he left . . .

Groaning at his complete and utter lack of luck, Shuyin cast the light sphere aside and buried his face in his hands. Why now? Why did things have to go wrong _now_? Did the universe really hate him _this_ much? Now he needed a new plan, and fast.

But there weren’t any new plans to be had. This was about the only part of the mission he couldn’t stumble through any which way he liked. He had to get into Bevelle, sneak into the Underground, and find Vegnagun’s chamber, in that order, with no variations. Now, with his map gone, the second step was never going to happen, so he might as well kiss the entire plan goodbye . . .

But then again, how many times had he looked at that map? Freezing momentarily, Shuyin raised his eyes from the confines of his hands and stared off into the darkness, eagerly following this new train of thought. During the weeks leading up to his departure from Zanarkand, hadn’t that map had been practically the sole focus of his solitary downtime? Shouldn’t he know it like the back of his hand?

Sure enough, as he clamped his eyes shut and forced himself to focus on the thick, bold lines that made up the drawing of the Underground, as well as the much thinner, dotted line marking the correct path through it, they were suddenly as clear in his mind as they were on the map itself. Well, maybe not quite _that_ clear, given that it was fuzzy in some places and some less significant parts of the map were blotted out. But still, just because it wasn’t perfect didn’t mean it wouldn’t work . . .

It was almost as if that realization had an added Haste effect attached. An instant later, he was snatching up his second Hero Drink with renewed vigor and shoving all his pre-selected gems and potions into his pockets. Simultaneously, he got to his feet and stomped on the light sphere as hard as he could, promptly smashing it to bits and eliminating the incriminating light it gave off.

He had to be quick, he told himself as he screwed the lid off the Hero Drink bottle. He only had a couple of hours left before the sun rose, and people would be a lot more suspicious of being bumped into by no one at all during daylight hours. And yet, even knowing that, he couldn’t help but keep a self-satisfied smirk off of his face. He was back in the game.

\---

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Lenne thought sadly. Up until now, performing had been one of the greatest pleasures of her life, something to make all of her stresses fall away when they never would otherwise. It was like she was caked in a heavy, suffocating layer of wax until she set foot on the stage, and then it all melted cleanly away, leaving her free, invigorated, and immeasurably happy. It was a good feeling, one that she held dear and savored more than almost any other.

However, that was all apparently a rose-tinted memory. She realized that now as she slowly made her way across the stage toward its center, trusty microphone in hand and a make-believe smile on her face as the crowd cheered all around her.

The makeshift arena she found herself in was a simple one, really. There was a glassy, wide-platform stage in the center that looked almost like a chic, sideways barbell; rows upon rows of stands built gradually outward, stadium-style, that were made to hold at least a thousand; and a wonderful view of the night sky above them, thanks to the arena’s open roof. Simple, but sufficient. That made sense, of course. Though it seemed well made, it hadn’t been built to last. It was merely a temporary affair, and served only one purpose. As conceited as it felt to admit, this arena had been put together specifically for her last concert. Two weeks from now, she would be leaving Zanarkand, and thus stepping out of the spotlight for good. There wouldn’t be any more concerts with her as the leading act.

The various concert organizers who had put together her shows in the past had been notified accordingly, some months ago in fact. However, they hadn’t taken the news lying down. Within the week, they’d had their game plan laid out, working at top speed to bring together the makings of her farewell concert. It had been astounding to Lenne, quite frankly. She’d never seen anyone move that fast in her life, much less a group of concert organizers, who’d taken twice as long to make a decision when there had been a perfectly good arena available. She wanted to believe that this new bout of speed on their part was to be attributed to the goodness in them (do good to her, make her last concert one to remember, and other such niceties), though she knew it had less to do what was in their hearts and more to do with what would be in their wallets if they played their cards right. Still, she was nonetheless grateful to them for their efforts, and did everything in her power to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Her audience, of course, hadn’t been informed of the real reason why she was leaving. That would just depress them, after all. Depressing was not part of her image. Instead, they’d been told that she was just ‘retiring’ from the business, moving on to different things and leaving the stage open for the next up-and-coming starlet.

However, regardless of what they had or hadn’t been told, they had nonetheless answered the call in droves. The last she’d heard, the entire arena had been completely sold out. And even then, there were still dozens people who, after failing to get inside, had formed a ring around the arena, ready to hear and enjoy the concert despite their lack of seats. All in all, she couldn’t have hoped for a better turnout.

Taking all that into account, she should have been regarding this concert as the best of her a career, she realized: a packed stadium, screaming fans, and a sense of enthusiasm about the place almost thick enough to bottle. It had everything it needed to be great. At least, on the surface. Lenne, however, wasn’t fooled.

As jovial as everyone appeared and as great and wonderful and just-like-the-good-old-days as this concert may have seemed, she quickly realized with a pang in her heart what this _really_ was: a farce. Past those smiles that had become as natural to her as singing itself, beyond the audience’s cheers and happiness that had made performing so incredible to her in the past, she knew that they were all scared. Though the general public hadn’t been informed of the summoners’ upcoming clash with Bevelle, she knew that they could feel it. Even without any information about what was going to happen, tension had still descended on the city like the thickest of winter fogs. A fog that even Lenne—as optimistic as she strove to be—couldn’t seem to see through.

That wasn’t even mentioning the animosity. The result of Emperor Yevon’s decision to close the borders all those months ago, it simply refused to die, or even get weaker, for that matter. Even now, the people’s outrage at being trapped in what felt more and more like a doomed city everyday had far from subsided. Thanks to that anger, Zanarkand, which had been somewhat brought together by nearly unanimous, citywide anxiety, was now being split apart. Its very foundations were cracking as its citizens forsook the desperate autocracy that was still struggling to hold everything together. As much as it hurt for Lenne to admit, it was clear what fear and anger together had done: Zanarkand was collapsing from within.

She should say something, she realized as she came to a stop at the center of the stage, the crowd screaming as loudly as ever. These people, her people, they _were_ Zanarkand, and they were the ones that were crumbling under the weight of this conflict. She had to say something to make it better, anything at all that could do even the slightest amount of good for them. She knew she couldn’t solve the entire problem with a few hastily cobbled together words, but maybe, if she did it just right, it could start the people of Zanarkand on the road to picking themselves up and again. It wouldn’t be difficult, she told herself, by any means; just ask for everyone to quiet down for a second and have the stagehands hold the music. Simple as that. She _had_ to say something, she thought resolutely. After all, this was the last concert she would ever have. She would never have another chance.

But she didn’t. Head remaining up to fool the crowd but gaze sliding to the stage floor, she bit back all those quiet, unsure words. What could she even say, Lenne thought dejectedly. She was but a mere songstress to them, and nothing more than that. Plus, though she was a summoner out of the public eye, that didn’t help much, either. Any solace that she could possibly give these people would undoubtedly be meager in comparison to what was needed to get Zanarkand back on its feet. When all was said and done, she thought, if there were any words in all of Spira that could really, truly save her home from the brink of disaster, they wouldn’t be any that she could say. She wasn’t . . . she—she couldn’t. She just _couldn’t_.

So, instead, she simply did what she had come here to do. Lifting her gaze from the stage floor to the crowd before her, Lenne put on the best, most genuine-looking smile that she could muster, and silently waited for the music to start.

\---

He had to admit that this was actually kind of exciting, in a morbid sort of way. It was like a strange sort of high, most likely brought on by the massive amount of adrenaline that he knew was pounding through his system. It probably helped that things were generally going even more smoothly than he had hoped for.

He made it past the sentries at the entrance without incident, just as easily as he had back in Zanarkand. Thanks to this painlessness, his anxiety momentarily dissolved, and he was half tempted to smack one of the men in the back of the head and watch the fun. However, he decided that it was best not to press his luck, and quickly moved on. From there, it was just a short jog along the winding path they guarded before he reached the coast. Stopping abruptly where the hard-packed earth met soft, loose sand (and consequently filling his shoes with a copious amount of the latter), he leaned forward, staring off past the shore and taking a moment to process the sight that lay before him.

It was barely a mile off shore, seemingly floating on the surface of the black, glassy ocean around it. He couldn’t make out too many details, given that distance and darkness had done a marvelous job of making it look indistinct. And yet, from what he could distinguish, there was no mistaking it: giant outer walls, completely featureless but for a few ducts mid-partition for water to escape through; entire sections of city stacked upon each other like enormous building blocks; specks of light dotting the otherwise black island and making it look like a light bulb shining through loosely woven cloth. As hard as it was to really, truly believe at first, there was no question about it: he’d finally reached Bevelle.

The Highbridge was no less impressive. It was at least a good eight lanes thick at its mouth, and too long to gauge properly from the shore. Frankly, it almost seemed as if the planet curved before this thing did; it was just _that_ long.

On either side of the bridge, he could make out a distinctly marked lane, with a hover that looked like a simpler version of the one’s that attacked Zanarkand floating idly at the lip of each. Those, he guessed almost immediately, were doubtlessly the transportation hovers he’d heard about, the ones that condensed the half-hour walk down the Highbridge into a two-minute ride. Those would definitely be coming in handy.

His trip along the bridge, though it didn’t go quite as quickly as he would have hoped (he had to abandon the first hover he snuck onto after nearly being discovered by a mother whose annoying little daughter kept insisting that she’d stepped on a foot that wasn’t there; seriously, what little kid was up at this time of night?), went well enough. He didn’t get caught, and had made it all the way down to that dumb bridge without even having to touch his third Hero Drink. In that respect, things were going even better than he had planned.

The city itself presented no real difficulty. Just as he had predicted back in Macalania, the night gave him spectacular cover, and made it so that bumping into an old man here or a pair of drunk girls there wasn’t nearly as dangerous as it would have been otherwise. As such, he made it through the streets with extreme ease, and once again made incredibly good time.

It wasn’t long before he reached Bevelle’s central military complex. Then again, ‘complex’ really didn’t seem like the right word, he realized as it stood before it, head tilted and eyebrow raised. It looked to consist of no more than three normal looking buildings, surrounded by a short partition that Shuyin could have climbed in his sleep. Hardly intimidating, and it didn’t do much to inspire confidence in the supposedly unmatched Bevellian military. Then again, given that the next step of his plan was to break into this little pseudo-fortress of theirs, that was probably a good thing.

The first floor wasn’t too bad. It was a bit difficult to navigate, given that every corridor in the place looked exactly the same (obscenely long and very, very white), and a bit confusing, since the landing’s almost complete lack of both sound and visible doors made it feel like something out of a bad sci-fi flick. Then again, he kind of had to appreciate the mildness of those difficulties, given that there was a whole host of worse things that could have happened instead. For instance, the Hero Drink could have finally worn off, a fact that Shuyin kept fresh in his mind as he steered his way through the indistinguishable hallways. Every once in a while, he would glance up at the small, yet incredibly intimidating, black half-spheres on the wall where he knew security cameras were nestled. Needless to say, becoming visible again in a stark white hallway while wearing bright yellow and black, all right in view of those ominous little camera balls, was not something he was all that eager to experience. Suddenly, he wished he’d worn less noticeable colors.

He thought he was stuck at one point, when he reached the landing’s only elevator and, to his dismay, found that it was key-card activated (and unfortunately, having a staring contest with the small, gray card scanner that jutted from the wall beside the elevator yielded no results). Thankfully, before he could start screaming and frothing at the utter injustice of it all, the elevator pinged cheerily before opening to let a stony-faced military man out. Without even thinking, Shuyin pressed himself flat against the wall (wincing as the scanner dug painfully into his back), threw a hand around the elevator’s wide doorframe, and stood perfectly still, hardly daring to breath. Thankfully, the man passed without so much as glancing back, leaving Shuyin to hastily dart into the tiny beige compartment, infinitely pleased with this unforeseen success of his.

The next floor down was a little more difficult, given that, unlike the eerily silent corridors of the ground floor, this place had people. There were hundreds of them, scuttling purposefully about the immense room that greeted Shuyin when the elevator doors finally opened. Even then, the people here only took up a fraction of the available space. They moved almost exclusively along a central path, only occasionally branching off to squeeze along one of the thread-thin lanes that weaved their way past the dark, hulking objects that took up the rest of the room. It only took a moment for Shuyin to realize what they were. After all, the gun turrets, the spikes, the armor, and the cannons that they were laden with made them almost impossible to mistake. This was Bevelle’s stock of war machina.

Slipping out of the elevator as quietly as possible (and just barely dodging two short, be-goggled men as they made to board), Shuyin planted himself against a wall, where there was the least likelihood of someone bumping into him, and paused to access the situation. The Bevelle military, unfortunately, had been too smart to make a single elevator that went all the way down to the lowest basement floors. That would have made it too easy for intruders to get to the _really_ restricted areas if that had been the setup. Instead, if he remembered the map correctly, the complex had several that only went down one landing each, which meant that there was another elevator that went down to the next floor somewhere in this room. Where it was specifically, he couldn’t quite say. However, regardless of where it was, he’d still have to make his way through that airtight throng of machina and men to find it, all without being noticed. Oh _joy_.

Nevertheless, he managed it, somehow. Inch by inch, avoiding the thinnest paths as often as possible, pressing himself against painfully cold machina when he was forced to dodge out of the way of oncoming individuals, sometimes back-tracking entirely if his current path was too crowded, he was able to make his way. In addition, given that the going was rather slow, he was able to learn a few tidbits of information along the way.

The first thing he noticed was nothing particularly special. As he moved about the immense machina that took up the landing, sliding his way past some and diving behind others for protection, he started to realize that they weren’t particularly well put together, or indeed put together at all. More than once he found himself almost tripping over some mislaid parts and crashing into a passerby, so he quickly began to loathe this laziness on the part of the builders.

The second thing was merely an extension of the first. It explained the loose parts, in any case. As he moved about, glancing at the people that made traversing this landing so difficult, he noticed that a good deal of them were be-goggled men and women working on the machina. Either that, or they were giving instructions to those who _were_ working on the machina, reading off clipboards and occasionally reprimanding one of the builders, much to the latter’s annoyance. So, these were the engineers, he realized after studying them for a few moments. _That_ was why the machina here were half-assembled. They were still in the process of building them. Well then, mystery solved.

The third thing was definitely the most terrifying. After being forced to wedge his way between two very large, very pointy machina when a few men decided to stop and carry on a conversation right in his way, Shuyin suppressed a frustrated sigh and looked down, only to be forced to suppress a cry of alarm as well. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the floor during this little excursion of his, given that his attention had been on slightly more important things, like not getting caught. However, now that he’d been forced into idleness, he finally saw that the floor was made of a type of corrugated black metal, the holes in it large enough to give a clear view of what lay below. And what lay below was what appeared to be a bottomless pit.

After nearly reeling out of his hiding place and straight into the men blocking his exit, Shuyin forced himself to calm down and look up to the ceiling, which wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying. However, it wasn’t long before his curiosity got the better of him and, bracing himself, he once again cast his gaze down.

It certainly looked to be bottomless, he thought as he silently gulped back a lump in his throat. Steely gray walls stretched off into complete darkness, their only distinct feature a few ring-shaped platforms just below the floor where he was standing. Turning his attention to those, Shuyin squinted at them, trying to get a better look. There were at least four of them, from what he could see, and yet, hardly a square inch of any of them was left bare. They were all lined with machina that looked just like the ones he was currently pushed up against, even down to the fact that there were people circling them like insects to a streetlamp. The ones down below, however, seemed to be in much better shape than those that occupied this floor. They were completely assembled, for one thing, and a lot shinier. There was no one working on them, either. Just people running about between them, occasionally pausing to examine one, but never more than that.

Then it hit him: those were the _completed_ machina. These were still in the works, which was why they had all those workers and engineers swarming about them like a disease. Those were the finished pieces, the ones that they would be using in barely two weeks’ time, and there were a lot more down there than there were up here.

Eyes once again widening in horror, Shuyin tore his gaze away again and looked up, just as he had done before. However, that offered no sanctuary, given that platforms almost identical to the ones below also ringed the area overhead.

Fortunately enough, it was then that the group that had congregated in the middle of Shuyin’s exit route chose to disperse. Quickly, he pulled away from those blasted, half-done machina, and turned his focus once again to crossing the landing. However, one thing still remained fresh in his mind, and least for a moment: he had to take care of Bevelle before those death-machines saw the light of day.

The fourth and final thing he noticed was that the next elevator was, in fact, directly across the room from the previous one. As he peered out from behind a machina some workers were getting ready to graft a gun turret onto, he spotted a colossal freight elevator, at least big enough to fit ten of these monstrous machina inside (which, of course, was probably its purpose). For a moment, he feared that that was going to be his only way down, a means that was hardly as discreet as he would have liked. However, a moment later, he spotted a second, human-sized elevator directly beside it, with a guard just stepping inside.

Throwing caution to the wind, Shuyin dove out from behind the machina that was his hiding place—just barely missing a petite woman who was busy shaking her head disapprovingly at her workers—and bolted for the elevator at top speed. He saw a few people turn as their clothes and hair were tugged askew as he passed, but he paid them no mind. It wouldn’t matter in half an instant, as long as he caught that elevator.

Miraculously, he somehow managed to make it, sliding sideways through the doors just before they slammed shut with a metallic clang. Then, before he could even get his bearings, they were swiftly descending, and Shuyin had to lean against the wall for support. Moving as quietly as possible to the corner farthest from the guard, Shuyin leaned back and waited, albeit nervously.

Taking a look around, he quickly realized that this elevator hadn’t really been built with the comfort of the passenger in mind. It was hardly more than a frame, and there wasn’t a single place that he could look without getting a clear view of the inside of the elevator shaft. Clearly, this had been built merely out of necessity, probably to keep the larger elevator free of humans for the machina. That was just like Bevelle to prefer their machina over their workers, he thought with a barely suppressed snort of disgust (then, suddenly, he found himself struck with a bout of déjà vu: had he said that before? It felt like he had . . .).

However, that train of thought was swiftly derailed as the elevator’s other passenger, whom Shuyin had momentarily forgotten, cleared his throat noisily. After getting over the instinctive fear that he’d been spotted, Shuyin carefully turned his head to the side, doing his best not to move, and faced the guard. Though the man’s eyes were hidden from view by a thin, white visor, the fact that his gaze was focused ceaselessly on the doors before him assured a relieved Shuyin that, for the moment, he hadn’t been discovered. Still, that didn’t do anything to slow Shuyin’s rapidly beating heart, which he swore was starting to put a dent in his breastbone.

The elevator continued its rapid descent, and it wasn’t long before any light that might have leaked into the duct from the engineering floor or the platforms below was lost to them. A single, circular light sprung to life in the top of the elevator as they descended further into seemingly perpetual blackness, though the dull blue glow it gave off left much to be desired when it came to visibility. Essentially, the two were now barreling now an endlessly long elevator shaft that would be taking them to who knew where, in nearly pitch black. Shuyin would have had to have been a much bigger liar to say that it didn’t make him feel as if his innards were slowly being braided together.

Maybe that was why he denied himself even the base relief of making himself comfortable. Or more, even daring to pull himself from his half-crouched position in the corner, both sweat-slicked hands planted against the walls for balance. It wasn’t like it really would have mattered, or anything. For one, the guard was wearing a visor that was about a half an inch thick—probably less—in a practically pitch black elevator compartment. With that kind of visibility, Shuyin couldn’t have asked for a better result if he’d equipped something with Dark Touch and blinded the guy himself. And, as if he really needed any more than that, the blonde had the gift of invisibility on his side . . .

Or not.

It took a moment for Shuyin to really realize what was going on. He’d been worrying about it for the past half-hour, constantly reminding himself that it was going to be happening soon, and checking himself to really make sure that it hadn’t _already_ happened while he wasn’t paying attention. And yet, somehow, it still took him a good few moments of staring dumbly at the wall to his right before he finally started to panic.

There, for all the world to see (which, horrifyingly, included the _very_ armed guard beside him), was Shuyin’s hand. Merely the outline, it was true, but his hand nonetheless. The Hero Drink had finally worn off, and he was changing back.

Choking on his own breath, Shuyin threw the offending appendage behind his back as he dug his other hand into his pocket, groping about desperately for his last Hero Drink. Suddenly, the pale light from the bulb overhead, which a moment ago had seemed to be little more than a flicker, now felt like a burning spotlight that was shining directly on him. Any second now, the guard would spot him. He’d notice a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as Shuyin struggled first with finding the Hero Drink, then unscrewing the cap out without making any noise. The blonde had to have been fully visible by now, a practical flare of neon yellow against a backdrop of insipid gray, and any second now, that guard was going to look over his shoulder, and then Shuyin would be no more than a flare of _red_ on that wall, and, oh man, he was going to _die_ —

But the guard _didn’t_ notice. Finally getting the tiny bottle unscrewed, Shuyin wasted no time in downing the contents, even at the expense of spilling a few precious drops. Then, far too slowly for his fear-raked mind to be content with, the emergence of his visible frame promptly stopped, and the process reversed just as quickly. Within the minute, he was once again invisible, and the guard was apparently none the wiser.

However, before Shuyin had any time to pause and enjoy the relief of barely avoiding detection, the elevator gave a lurch, nearly sending him face-first into the rigid compartment floor. After flailing for a moment and only just retaining his balance, Shuyin pulled himself up just as a separate set of doors than those he and the guard had entered through opened behind him. Without missing a beat, said guard turned on a heel and marched stiffly out the newly opened doors, leaving Shuyin to silently scramble out in his wake.

As far as light went, there wasn’t much of a change between the elevator and this new place. However, he quickly realized that that particular quality was specific to where he was standing. Once again, he was on a platform, though this one was much more balcony-esque than that of the engineering floor. From where he stood, he could see a thin bridge at the platform’s edge, inclining sharply downward. However, neither of those things was what held his attention. Rather, it was the red and blue lights that pulsed in the walls around him, and radiated up from somewhere over the end of the platform. Skirting past the guard, who had taken up a spot beside the elevator seemingly to wait (much to Shuyin’s disappointment, given that he’d intended the follow the man from here instead of running the risk of getting horribly lost), Shuyin stepped up to the waist-high guard wall at the balcony’s edge and looked out at the area beyond.

Finally, something he recognized. Though he was at least vaguely familiar with most parts of the map, the circular security station that stood before him now was a particularly memorable sight. It was decorated with a medley of red and cyan lights, fixed to the walls with gigantic metal chains as if it might float away if left to its own, and riddled with ominously lit security towers. At first glance, it almost appeared to be a sort of minuscule city. Obviously, this place wasn’t something that easily slipped from mind. Thanks to that little bit of luck, Shuyin was finally able to get his bearings.

Obviously, he was on the third level now, Shuyin thought as he made for the inclined bridge (though that should have been a bit more obvious, now that he thought about it; he had ridden two elevators down to here, after all). Beyond this point, there was only the fourth level separating him from Vegnagun’s chamber. Admittedly, the fourth floor did house a labyrinth of tunnels that would have been _much_ easier to navigate had he physically had his map. However, after what he’d already been through, he figured poking around a maze for a bit wouldn’t be too trying.

Now, it was just a question of how he was going to get _through_ the security station. Stepping off of the bridge onto yet another platform, Shuyin made his way forward, toward the tower that loomed before him and the path that would get him around it. The one thing that he knew for sure was that all of the towers had to be deactivated for the entrance to the labyrinth, located directly in the station’s center, to be unlocked. Unfortunately, he was also aware that it was not likely to be a particularly quiet process. Before reaching Bevelle, he’d resolved to just get it done as quickly as possible, and hope that there was no one within hearing distance to notice. However, now that that guard was here, that plan was shot. Suddenly, he wasn’t quite so pleased with his silent escape from the previous floor, if it meant he was now in an even bigger bind . . .

And then he rounded the corner, stopped in his tracks, and just couldn’t stop a rather ridiculous smile from spreading across his face. The neon blue security field that covered the entrance when the towers were still activated was gone, and a mere few steps before him was the reason. A group of at least half a dozen guards were still in the process of climbing out of the entrance, those that had already ascended through it helping out the stragglers. Most likely a shift change of some sort, which explained why the second guard was still waiting up above. However, in his glee at this impressive bit of good luck, Shuyin didn’t stop to consider that for a more than a moment or two.

Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Shuyin tiptoed by the guards and slid down into the entrance, onto the first of the four humongous steps that led to the next level. Glancing briefly over his shoulder to see if the guards had noticed him (and just barely suppressing a chuckle of delight when he found that they hadn’t), Shuyin started carefully making his way down to the next step, smiling slyly all the while. He was on a roll, and apparently, as far as good luck went, he was finally getting his due.

\---

It wasn’t long before Shuyin realized that it wasn’t called a labyrinth for nothing. Though the tunnels that made it up appeared simple enough, it was that same simplicity that blighted him. The obstacles that had been built in to the tunnels were easy enough to get passed; unpleasant to execute, given that they involved a lot of climbing, but easy nonetheless. However, the repetitiveness of the whole thing, not to mention the various different paths from which he had to choose, made this place even worse than the white corridors back on the ground floor. At least _they_ made up for their eeriness by being genuinely uncomplicated to navigate.

It was here that he really felt the effect of being map-less. Admittedly, this place would have still been tough to get through, even if he’d known the right path. Still, knowing where he was supposed to go and what to expect probably wouldn’t have hurt. Even better, it probably would have cut his travel time in half. While he didn’t know exactly how long he was down there, he was pretty sure it wasn’t a short amount of time, by any means.

However, his efforts were still rewarded, even though the process was slow. One by one, landmarks began to gradually present themselves, showing that he was, in fact, on the right track. The strange, climb-activated bridge and pillars were one. It was a bit hard to forget such an awkward contraption, even if one had only ever heard if it in a minuscule paragraph in a worn leaflet. Another was the clanging, shuddering, sparking machine that stood just beyond, moving in a continuous circle and stopping only to raise and lower the platforms attached to the axis. All of this without any apparent human intervention, or even interest, for that matter. Regardless, it was a rather interesting bit of machina, Shuyin decided as he went by, even though he had no clue what it could possibly be for. The third was the collapsible wall (which, much to Shuyin’s irritation, had fooled him into turning around more than once) and the strange, levitating hovers that stood just on the other side of it.

From there, it wasn’t long until, as he was rounding a corner and gently rubbing his sore shin (he’d knocked it against the edge of a platform while trying to jump from one to the other and not fall into the bottomless pit of fog below; it’d hurt something brutal, that was for sure), he looked up and froze mid-step. Instantly, he realized that he wasn’t going to need to look for landmarks anymore. Not thirty feet in front of him, ominously silhouetted by the shifting glyphs that he knew peppered the walls in the next room, was a doorway. No tricks to get through it, no traps to stop him, just a doorway. The doorway to Vegnagun’s chamber.

Walking with the air of someone who had just stepped into some kind of sacred place (or a field of landmines; he wasn’t quite sure which yet), Shuyin gingerly stepped through it, slowing nearly to a standstill as he did.

It was just like when he’d first watched that video sphere an eternity ago. The glyphs where there, flickering in and out on hundreds of individual panels that decorated the walls. The long, thin pathway—nearly a catwalk, as high as it was suspended above the ground—that led to the center of the room was there too, ending in a circular platform. The apparent shift change of a few moments previous had left it free of patrolling guards, for once.

However, also like when he’d first watched that video sphere, those two things weren’t what he was focusing on. Eyes wide with awe, Shuyin stared unblinkingly up at the massive figure that loomed before him.

Vegnagun. There it was, curled in upon itself just as it had been when he’d first seen it in the sphere, terrifying even in its dormancy. Those dead, empty eyes were still there, and still surprisingly piercing despite their vacancy. However, Shuyin’s uneasiness was easily overtaken by his state of complete wonder, and any anxiety that he might have felt at seeing those lifeless eyes in person was promptly smothered. A good move, given that Vegnagun reacted strongly to fear and anger, but Shuyin was too engrossed to pay that little factoid any mind.

It was sort of strange, he thought distantly. His feet, though essentially given free reign now that his mind was otherwise occupied, remained loyal and continued to move him slowly forward. Of all the things that he’d expected to feel upon finally coming face to face with this immense weapon (in addition to the awkward feeling of literally being able to look a machina in the face), relief and awe at the fact that the weapon was actually real was _not_ one of them. Didn’t he come to that conclusion some months ago, when he’d decided to risk life and limb to get here? Then again, maybe it was the fact that it was right there, standing before him, that made him realize how real it truly was.

After once again taking charge of his feet and pausing for a fraction of a moment, Shuyin jogged the last few feet to the end of the walk, stopping again at the center of the platform and continuing to stare at the immense machina.

This was it. The culmination of all his hard work and preparation, the means of finally bringing the war to an end and, most important of all, the way to save Lenne. No more waiting, no more planning, no more scrambling to pull it off. This was _it_.

“You know,” he said suddenly, and without bothering to keep his voice down, “you’re all I can count on to save Lenne.” Oh. Oh, great. Now he was talking to machina. An amused smile teasing at the corners of his lips despite the solemnity of the situation, he realized that solitude was not good for him. Apparently, it made him crazy.

Unfortunately, the last word had barely left his lips when that non-smile was wiped cleanly from them, because that’s when the lights came on. With an immense slam, two separate spotlights sprang to life, crossing each other to perfectly illuminate the platform where he stood. After squinting up at one of said spotlights for a moment and then promptly looking away (his eyes couldn’t take that much light without time to adjust), Shuyin turned to look over his shoulder, glancing back down the path to the doorway at its end. As he did, the lights behind Vegnagun, which had been dormant as the machine itself until now, began to flash red, and the ringing of a shrill siren swiftly followed.

However, despite all the racket, there was not a soul to be seen in the chamber, aside from himself (though the last part of that sentence was debatable, given that he was invisible). They probably had some sort of voice or noise activated alarm system, he mused. The alarm hadn’t come on until he’d spoken, after all.

He didn’t really have to worry though, Shuyin reasoned as he turned back toward Vegnagun (it was much easier to see with those spotlights, so that was a bit of a plus). Even when someone came down here to check out the situation, as they without a doubt would, all they’d see was an empty room, with a lot of bright lights going off for no particular reason. As he momentarily turned away from Vegnagun to glance down at his own, invisible hands, he was suddenly that much more grateful for those Hero Drinks.

And that’s when he realized his hands weren’t invisible anymore. Eyes widening to spectacular proportions, his gaze swiftly shifted to his arms and shoulders, then down to the rest of him. To his complete horror, all of him was perfectly visible. This wasn’t like before, when he’d spotted his outline just in time to reverse the process. This time, he was fully back to his normal, visible state, under a stoplight, and standing in plain view of the door.

Instinctively, he went for his pocket, intent on that last Hero Drink and the escape it would provide for him. However, his stomach churning as if something was trying to tear its way out, he remembered that there were no more. One to escape Zanarkand, one to enter Bevelle, and one on the elevator coming down. He’d used them all, and now he was stuck visible, with no means of escape, and reinforcements undoubtedly on their way to see what had set off the alarms. Oh _shit_.

After whipping around to stare at the door for a moment and finding no one there (at least, for now), before he even had time to think about what he was doing, Shuyin turned back around and bolted for the edge of the platform. He could hang off of it. That was his best option. They wouldn’t see him, and with any luck he’d be able to get back up before his fingers completely gave out—

In his panic, he didn’t hear the footfalls behind him. He didn’t hear the rifle being cocked, either. But he did feel the bullet as it whizzed past his ribs. His shout of terror echoing about the vast chamber, Shuyin pinwheeled to the side, his balance instantly lost. For one frozen, horror-filled moment, he almost thought he was going to go flying off the platform’s edge. The moment promptly ended, though, when he came crashing down onto the platform, inches away from the rim. However, he didn’t have any time to be relieved, and a moment later, he almost wished he’d fallen to his death.

Quickly, Shuyin made to push himself up, scrambling to get to his feet. However, before he could even straighten his elbows, something came down on him from behind, and he was once again slammed down against the metal, his chin taking the brunt of the blow this time. He was barely even able to let out a howl of pain before his arms were wrenched painfully behind him and held there by a person unknown. Simultaneously, the person sat on middle of Shuyin’s back, their weight and grip all but adhering him to the spot.

His fighting instinct kicking in, Shuyin shouted out once again, this time in rage, and flailed about madly, doing everything in his power to dislodge the person that had him so badly trapped. However, be it that the person was stronger than Shuyin, heavier than Shuyin, or was just merely in a better position to hold fast than Shuyin, the latter could gain no ground in his attempts to get free. He couldn’t move his arms at all, as fiercely as he struggled to free them, and moving any part of his torso below the ribcage was entirely out of the question. He was thus confined to the mere flailing of his legs and upper body, both of which did infuriatingly little.

“One of you osmose this guy, now!” The person—a man, if his voice was any indication, and probably a guard, too, if he was the one who’d shot the gun—shouted, forcing Shuyin’s arms even harder against his back just as the blonde thought he might have freed them. As he made to jerk them loose once again, a strange sensation came over him, like something creeping up through his bones, sneaking up on his mind. And then, before he realized what was happening, all his unused magic energy was sapped cleanly away, as if by some sort of metaphysical vacuum. Immediately, he was overcome by lightheadedness, to the point that he couldn’t even see straight.

Barely avoiding being sick, Shuyin groaned throatily and let his head fall limply back to the floor, the dull little thud it made ringing with a sort of sick finality. Though he kept up the struggle to break free of his captor’s hold, his efforts were feeble, at best. A child could have held him down, with the fight that he was putting up. No bones about it now. They had him.

“How the—what the hell? Who is this guy?” said a man from behind him, too far behind to be the man holding him down. Another guard, logic dictated. Apparently, his captor had friends.

“What, you think I know?” shouted another. This time it _was_ the guard holding him down.

“Oh, saints. This isn’t good. This is _not_ good. He’ll have our heads for this!” A third, the sound of pacing accompanying his nervous voice.

“Shut up, damn it! Just, shut up! We’re fine.” Suddenly, Shuyin could feel an unfamiliar hand rummaging about through his pockets, searching for something. However, before he could react, the hand was gone, along with something else.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a . . . bottle.”

Oh damn. _Damndamndamn_!

“A bottle of what?”

“It’s empty, you idiot. Look at it!”

The three paused, seeming to consider the little treasure that they’d just come across. Shutting his eyes to both quell his nausea and figuratively hold his breath, Shuyin willed them not to see it as anything out of the ordinary. He might still be able to get out of this, somehow, as long as they didn’t know . . .

“Who are you, pal?” said Shuyin’s captor, his tone slippery with ill-concealed venom. _Damn it!_ They _knew_!

Still, though his secret was obviously blown beyond repair, Shuyin didn’t respond, instead choosing to keep his mouth shut. What could he possibly get out of telling this guy _that_? It’d probably just make things worse. “I said,” the guard hissed, his weight shifting as he leaned in closer “ _who are you_?” When that also received no reply, he simply growled in anger before jerking away from Shuyin and turning to his comrades. “Hey, get over here! Get his other arm, and let’s go! The Major’ll know what to do with this guy.”

\---

Unfortunately for the guards, they hadn’t even made it back to the security station before Shuyin’s head had cleared enough for him to function. That was when he really started fighting back.

“Let go of me, you sons of—! _Augh_! I said _let me go!_ ”

“Oh, almighty saints! _Shut up!_ ” With a mammoth whack, one of the guards’ fists collided with the side of Shuyin’s face, sending the blonde lurching sidelong into the guard at his left before collapsing to his knees. Spots dancing in his eyes and violent bursts of pain shooting through his temple, he inadvertently ceased his struggling and went limp, finally letting the guards drag him onto the next landing where two forced him to his feet, cursing him all the while. However, that’s all the further they got before Shuyin started his furious thrashings and swearing anew, voice hoarse and muscles aching.

It’d been five floors of this, now. Through the security station, where the guards dragging Shuyin along met their idling comrades and shouted at them to, “Get down there and guard that damn thing!” Across the engineering floor, where the crowd of stunned workers silently parted for them, and a few engineers jumped in front of their machina to protect them from Shuyin’s wild flailing. Along the white corridors, where Shuyin had nearly escaped at one point, only to be jerked back at the last second and promptly slugged.

From there, they moved to floors that he’d never seen before, ones that were above ground level, rather than below. The first had a sort of storage facility feel, similar to that of the engineering floor, except this seemed to be for rifles and other smaller pieces of weaponry. A discountable level, at best. The second was where they were now, and even when he was giving practically all his attention to trying to get free, he could still tell that there was something different about this floor. For one, unlike the other floors, it was furnished. The walls here appeared to be wood rather than metal, or were at least made to appear that way, and the place was even carpeted (cheap red carpet, admittedly, but carpet nonetheless). In addition, it was very quiet, but not in quite the same way as the ground floor corridors were. There was a sense of menace about this place, as if a mere laugh or cough would cause swift retribution to be brought down upon the person who uttered it. Shuyin apparently wasn’t the only one who felt it, either.

“Shut him up, will you?” whispered Nervous Guard, as if they’d just stepped into a temple rather than a strangely decorated hallway.

“You think we’re not trying?” hissed the guard on Shuyin’s right, who was much quieter now than he had been when he’d cuffed Shuyin on the stairway. Clearly, the blonde thought as he shot the guard a glare, there was something dodgy about this place.

Suddenly, as they reached the far end of the landing, the three guards came to a swift stop in front of a thick looking wooden door. Simultaneously, the two at Shuyin’s sides straightened and stood at-attention. At least, as close to at-attention as they could, given that they were still struggling to keep him still.

After scampering around to stand in front of his comrades and taking up the at-attention position as well, Nervous Guard cleared his throat and then said, as confidently as possible, “Permission to enter, Sir.”

Those three probably would have stood there until the end of the world, Shuyin thought as he glanced about between them. As rigid as statues and almost as emotionless, he bet the roof could have fallen in and they wouldn’t have noticed. A big difference from how they’d been on the way up here. Hence, he couldn’t help but wonder who, or what, was on the other side of that door that could command this kind of respect from this kind of men. And then, he had to wonder if he really wanted to know badly enough to find out. Then again, it seemed like that decision was about to be made for him.

“Permission granted,” came a firm, commanding voice from the other side of the door. As if those simple words had flipped a switch in their minds, all three guards jumped into action (or relative action, anyway). The two on either side of Shuyin tightened their grip, one of them giving him one more whack to the head in a futile attempt to subdue him. Nervous Guard opened the door as calmly as possible and went in. Then, like parts of a well-oiled machine, the other two followed, dragging a still protesting Shuyin in right along with them.

As they stepped inside, Shuyin grunted indignantly as he was blinded by sunlight, pain shooting through his still darkness-accustomed eyes. The light subduing him far more quickly and effectively than his captors had ever managed to, he shut his eyes and whipped his head to the side, bidding the spots to stop dancing against the inside of his eyelids.

Eyes sufficiently watery, he carefully opened them again and glanced about his new surroundings. Just like the rest of the floor, this room was a decorated one and didn’t fit in at all with the rest of the complex. The red carpet and ‘wooden’ walls were here too, a few impressive looking, framed certificates dotting the wall to his left. For a moment, it looked to him as if the back wall was missing entirely, but he quickly realized that it was merely taken by a very, very large window. Outside, he could see the city of Bevelle stretching off into the distance, sunlight casting long shadows over some of the buildings and brilliantly lighting others. It was still apparently early, meaning that the sun wasn’t nearly as intense as it could have been. However, given that he has just spent the last few hours sneaking around—as well as being bodily dragged through—nearly pitch black corridors, the warm light of sunrise was enough to confuse him into momentary submission.

Then, Shuyin noticed something he hadn’t quite managed to spot during the sun’s assault on his weakened eyes. Almost perfectly centered before the window was a sizable wooden desk, its surface covered with enough papers to outweigh every book Shuyin had ever read (or even looked at, for that matter). Seated at it was a tall, stern looking man, whose eyes were fixed so unblinkingly upon Shuyin that the blonde suddenly feared he’d feel his skin start to sizzle any second. Wincing, he tried to shy away, but the guards held him fast. He swore he heard one of them chuckle at this new, cowed demeanor of his, yet they remained as stony-faced as ever before this gargoyle of a man.

“Sir,” Nervous Guard said, saluting before rigidly stepping forward. “This man was detained after setting off the sensor alarms on the fourth subterranean level.”

That’s when Shuyin figured it out: this guy was the Major that they had been talking about. This guy was going to be his interrogator. Casting his widened eyes down, he let his gaze bounce about the carpet as he frantically tried to figure out what to do. Just _looking_ at the guy made him want to crawl in a hole and never come out. How was he going to stand an _interrogation_?

All right, he wasn’t from Zanarkand. Yeah, that was good. He’d stick to that one. He’d never been to Zanarkand in his life! He was from Ingova in Djose, or Luca, or the Kilika Islands, maybe—

“We believe he’s Zanarkan, Sir. His attire is clearly such in origin.”

. . . _Shit_.

“I can _see_ that, Sergeant,” the Major said sharply, silencing Nervous Guard as efficiently as if he’d reached over and physically pulled the man’s tongue out (which, of course, didn’t do anything for Shuyin’s current state of intimidation). That was without even looking at the guy, too. Even now, he still hadn’t taken those demon eyes of his off Shuyin.

After a moment’s pause, during which his gaze still didn’t leave the blonde (did this guy ever _blink_?), he delicately folded his fingers together, nodding curtly at the guards. “Bring him here,” the Major finally commanded.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, the two guards jerked Shuyin forward, taking full advantage of his moment of uncertainty and acquiescence. Before he could even consider reacting, the two had already yanked him across the room and shoved him up in front of the desk. Then, just as quickly, they kicked the back of his knees in, forced him down onto them, and slammed his head down on the desktop, holding him there.

Immediately, Shuyin resumed his previous struggle, thrashing at the guards and shouting and cursing at them less than subtly. However, with his hands once again bound behind his back and his head pinned against the desk, his flailing unfortunately amounted to little.

“Quit your squirming. It won’t do you any good here.” The squeak of a chair being pushed out met Shuyin’s ears, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls coming around the desk toward him. As much as he would have liked to defy the Major’s command (purely out of spite if nothing else), his thrashings grew steadily weaker, his body made feeble by his lack of breath and the strain on his muscles. Five floors of nothing but struggling did that to a guy.

“That’s right,” crooned the Major, his voice thick and syrupy and calm, but at the same time with a thinly veiled bite to it, like honey laced with tacks. “Now, Sergeant,” he said, turning to Nervous Guard (or the Sergeant, apparently), “how exactly did this _boy_ manage to infiltrate our most restricted area without even a peep from your regiment?” A slight smile turned the Major’s lips as he finished, though it didn’t come anywhere close to reaching his eyes. Frankly, Shuyin half thought he was about to lop the other man’s head clean off.

“Sir,” the Sergeant replied, the slightest bit of shakiness to his voice now. “We found this on his person upon interception.” Slowly, he extracted the Hero Drink bottle that his comrade had stolen from Shuyin and held it out to the Major. “We think it might help give some clue as to how he eluded us, Sir.”

More delicately than a man like him ever should have been able to, the Major plucked the tiny bottle from the Sergeant’s hand, looking it over carefully. Unscrewing the cap and setting it down on the desk, the Major gently brushed a finger across the inside of the seemingly dry bottle, then pressed the tip of his finger to his tongue almost thoughtfully. Uh oh.

Shuyin probably wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been staring at the Major. It was but a mere flash, over in half a second, but nonetheless there. For a fraction of a second, the last thing Shuyin wanted to happen did: the Major went completely invisible. Shuyin wasn’t the only one to see it, either. He could feel the guards’ grip momentarily tightening on his wrists and the back of his head, and he could see the Sergeant’s eyes widened. Oh, _damn it_!

Staring at the bottle, the Major quietly clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth, in possibly his own display of wonder at what had just happened. Then, still gazing at the tiny container, he let out a chuckle, rubbing his fingers together ominously. “My, how _this_ brings back memories. I haven’t tasted this since I was a lieutenant.”

And then those eyes were back on Shuyin, and restrained as he was, he still didn’t have the option of shrinking back. “A wonderful thing, Hero Drink,” the Major droned, setting the bottle right in Shuyin’s line of sight. “Perfect for covert missions, but a bit expensive for the common man.” His gaze boring into the prisoner like something both jagged _and_ white hot, he folded his arms behind his back, looking entirely too pleased. “But you’re not a mere common man, are you? Sent here by an enemy to do their dirty work, weren’t you? Ah, and I believe I know which.” Slowly, arms still folded, he began to make his way back around the desk. “It seems we have a loyal flea of the rat Yevon on our hands.”

“No,” Shuyin finally croaked, trying to shake his head, and then quickly remembering he couldn’t when one of the guards pressed it even harder against the paper and wood beneath. “No.”

“Ah, so our flea finally speaks,” the Major said with an evil sort of half-glee. “And it speaks lies, at that.”

“I don’t know anything about Yevon,” Shuyin went on, ignoring the Major and trying his best to keep his voice level. “I came—I came here for me. No one else. Just for me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Once again, those heavy footsteps sounded as the Major slowly started toward Shuyin. “Well, boy, I’m sorry to ruin your fun, but I’ve seen much more impressive liars than you.”

“I’m not lying!” Shuyin said, his cool tone quickly beginning to give way to something shakier and more frantic. “I am _not_ one of Yevon’s spies—”

“Give me a single envoy that will say anything to the contrary.”

“No!” He was shouting now, all traces of level-headedness lost all too quickly. “I am _not_ —”

“You waste your breath, boy.” Oh, sweet mother of—how was he so damn _calm_?! “Now, here’s how it’s going to go. Your dear Lady Zanarkand has been rather shy as of late, and we’re rather interested in just what it is she’s hiding up her sleeve. So, you’re going to tell me what it is that that emperor of yours is planning.”

“Nothing!” Shuyin screamed back, abruptly resuming his fight against the guards as he struggled madly to right himself. “There’s nothing! There _are no plans!_ ”

“And I’ll have none of your silly little lies, either.” The Major was standing right beside Shuyin now, smirking down at the obviously frenzied younger man. “I’ve never been fond of mistruths. So, let us just say that retribution for deceit,”—Slowly, as if to somehow heighten its antagonizing effect, the Major reached out and placed a finger on the back of Shuyin’s neck, then suddenly sliced it across, as one would a knife—“will be swift.”

And that’s when Shuyin snapped. “Fuck you, you son of a—!” While he would have said more, given that that simple curse didn’t even come close to doing justice to what he was feeling now, one of the guard’s quickly cut off his impending tirade. Grabbing a handful of Shuyin’s hair and jerking the blonde’s head back, the guard promptly brought it back down again, slamming Shuyin’s face full force into the desktop. That desk was a lot harder than it looked.

Ignoring Shuyin’s scream of pain and diatribe of liquid-stifled curses, the Major unceremoniously walked back over to his chair and took up his pen. Then, as if as an afterthought, he casually said, “There are a dozen or so cells available in the Gaol, Sergeant. Escort our guest down there and arrange something for him. Just, get him out of here. He’s bleeding on my paperwork.”


	16. Chapter 16

Nothing ever changed in the Gaol. At least, that’s what Shuyin had thought at first. It was a miserable place, a place where even time seemed to give up the hope of altering anything. The machine in its center churned and clunked and sparked incessantly, ceaselessly, without even a basic pattern to make it somewhat bearable (all with him inside it, too; there was a good dozen unoccupied stationary cells in the place, yet they just had to put him in one of the four that was actually attached to the jolting, banging machine). The darkness was almost never-ending, only penetrated by angry red lights attached the walls that housed his little hovel. The camera they’d installed to watch him when they’d first thrown him in here—a floating, buzzing mechanism that almost seemed to have a mind of its own—whizzed about ad infinitum, flying this way and that about the room and sometimes looking like it wasn’t really watching him at all. But it always was. That never changed, either.

For the first little while, not even the footage it got changed much. When they’d first thrown him in this endlessly moving cell—no, not a cell; this was _cage_ —and slapped a towel across his bloody face, disgustedly telling him to clean himself up, all he’d done was scream. Clinging to the bars and shaking them like a madman, he screamed every curse he could think of at them, shouting to let him out and oh, _what he would do to them when he got out of here!_ He guessed he’d done that for a long time. He didn’t know _how_ long, of course. There was no sun in the Gaol, no way to tell whether he’d been trapped here for ten minutes or ten days. It was almost like time was frozen here.

But eventually, he gave up on the shouting. He hadn’t eaten at all, and had barely slept since he’d first been put in that cage. While me might not have know just how long that had been, it had been enough. Finally letting go of the bars, which had rubbed his palms completely raw, he’d sunk to the floor, trying to sleep but barely able too, as loud as the lift machine’s movements were.

That had been when the guards first came, different guards than the ones who had intercepted him in Vegnagun’s chamber. These new two were both about his age, if not younger, and both privates. Grunt workers, basically, and ones that were somehow even worse than the sergeants that had apprehended him.

They woke him up again. They did that a lot, probably as some kind of psychological torture that might, somehow, get him to cave and tell them what they wanted to know. They were never pleasant about it, either. They never just shook his shoulder or called out his name. No, there was none of that. Instead, they kicked the bars of his cage, hooting and howling at him and loudly questioning his sexual orientation. Or, on occasion, they’d hit him with their guns, right in the stomach whenever they got the shot. Or, like they’d done this time, they’d have a bit of fun by casting some magic on him.

It was Thunder this time. He screamed as it shot through his frame, biting and burning until he thought his bones would melt. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. He was free from it a moment later, left supine and gasping for air on the floor of the cage. Of course, he wasn’t really in the mood to be thankful. Especially not since, right after he escaped the Thunder’s clutches, he had something much, much worse to deal with.

“Well, ain’t that cute?” came a rather throaty voice from the right of Shuyin’s cage, a snicker permeating its every word. “It looks _and_ screams like a girl. Hey, your boyfriend waiting for you back in Zanarkand, girly?”

Still shaking from the force of the spell, Shuyin glared at the owner of the voice without any attempt at subtlety. There, looking quite amused with themselves and confident behind their bayonets, stood the two guards.

“Aw, look what you did,” said youngest, his voice more high-pitched than that of his comrade, though still containing the same sort of sadistic glee. “You made the little lady angry.”

“Not like I care,” the gruffer one answered, as if Shuyin weren’t even there. “Zanarkan women ain’t worth the water you’d waste spitting on ‘em.”

Shuyin, however, didn’t rise to the bait. He’d already tuned them out. Or, at least, he tried to. Sitting up, he turned away from the two and curled his arms around his knees, doing his best to shut his ears and mind to their words. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an easy task, since their entire purpose was to make those words sink in enough for him to crack. Worse, they were _really_ good at it.

“Well, that about describes the whole place, doesn’t it?”

Shuyin knew he shouldn’t go for it. It was a trap, he thought as he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth behind his lips, willing himself not to speak. They just wanted to get to him, see what made his blood boil. It wouldn’t end after that, he knew. They wouldn’t let it go until they’d bled the topic completely dry, and then the process would simply repeat itself. Another thing here that never changed.

They’d done it a few times already, before he’d been in their company long enough to catch on to what they were trying to do (of course, he wasn’t exactly sure how long that had been; with no sun in sight, and only their irregular visits to go by, he had no way of telling how long he’d been down here). Oh-so-casually, they’d brought up their thoughts on the war, which were basically that the whole thing was Zanarkand’s fault because they wouldn’t surrender. Naturally, he’d lashed right back at them, blaming the situation on its rightful perpetrators and telling them in no uncertain terms that the weapons they so badly craved would destroy them. Not only had that earned him a knock on the back of the head from the butt-end of a rifle, but for days on end, those two had continued to rub salt in the wound. Using that little bit of weakness on his part as their ultimate tool, they’d done everything possible to pry information out of him, to the point where he had very nearly snapped.

Now, he knew better. Now, he knew that no matter what they said, he just had to keep his mouth shut, if he didn’t want his own remarks used against him. Of course, knowing what he had to do and doing it were two very different things.

“Got that right.” Crossing his arms, the guard took up a more relaxed stance, as if at some point, Shuyin’s cage had become the office watering hole. “Gotta feel bad for the guy’s who got sent there, you know? You just ain’t clean after you’ve been _there_.”

“Can’t argue,” replied the younger, shaking his head. “Damn shame we gotta keep sending ours boys up there. Isn’t right doing that to them, you know? Exposing them to that. It’s just . . .” He clucked his tongue then, almost sadly. “Shame.”

Leaning even more heavily against his knees, Shuyin chewed agitatedly on the inside of his lip, glaring at the bars opposite him. Like those two had any room to talk about what made a city filthy . . .

“Poor guys probably can’t even find a good working girl,” said the older. “Doubt there’s a clean one in that whole damn city.”

Allowing himself the tiniest bit of release, Shuyin bent his head even further over his knees, muttering, “Because there are _so_ many of those here.” Not like it was a lie, after all.

“What was that?” snapped the older guard, the both of them turning to Shuyin with the air of disturbed Gigases. However, as per normal, the guards didn’t wait for an answer. Before Shuyin even had time to turn and attempt defend himself, the butt of a rifle plunged through the bars and smashed into his back. The force of it sent him lurching forward, and the pain sent him to tumbling onto his side with an undignified yelp.

“You know, this is really starting to get on my nerves,” said the younger guard as Shuyin struggled to right himself. All of a sudden, the twisted amusement that had saturated the man’s voice was gone. Now, his tone had a sort of tautness to it, the kind one gets when running out of patience. “No respect,” he continued. “It doesn’t have any respect at all for its betters.”

“You got that right,” responded the other as he leaned his rifle against his shoulder, tapping the handle that undoubtedly just been jammed into Shuyin’s back. “Think it needs a lesson in proper manners?”

By then, Shuyin had given up on getting himself upright. Flopping down onto his side, the blonde gritted his teeth behind his lips, as much out of hatred as out of pain. Those _bastards_! If he had just one good spell in him, _one good spell_ —! But no, they’d osmosed him an hour, two, three hours ago, or something like that (and there was that time thing again). Regardless, it hadn’t been long, and thanks to that, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep to replace that lost magic energy. It didn’t even take that much to get it back, either. One good night’s sleep. _One_. But, of course, given that he was inside a giant, constantly moving birdcage and had these despicable guards literally shocking him into awareness every few hours, that was miles beyond his reach. So now, as the younger guard turned to his comrade and muttered, just loud enough for Shuyin to hear, “Just keep the gun on it, and if it tries anything, shoot it in the head,” all he could do was glare daggers at the man and hope it had some semblance of an effect.

Setting his own bayonet down far out of Shuyin’s reach, the younger guard reached into the collar of his shirt and extracted a keycard, then slid it swiftly through the lock on the cell door. Instantly, with the click of a bolt sliding out of place, it opened, swinging out about an inch, almost as if in welcome.

That obstacle out of the way, the guard slid the door the rest of the way open and moved over to the prone blonde, kneeling down to get closer. “Listen, you,” he started, briefly going for the collar of Shuyin’s shirt. Then, upon finding that he apparently had none, decided that his neck worked just as well. Immediately, Shuyin flinched back, both his hands flying to the guards in an attempt to displace him.

“Oh, I don’t think you want to do that,” the guard said, giving Shuyin a good shake and gesturing toward his still-armed partner. “Unless you _want_ your brains splattered all over this cell.” After allowing himself just enough time for an arrogant smirk as Shuyin glowered at him and gasped to fill his emptying lungs, the guard returned to his previous state of irritation. “Now listen up. I don’t like you, and I’m pretty damn sure you don’t like me. But you know, I don’t give a shit about what you think, so I’m not gonna bother with it.

“Now, I’ve been coming here for almost two damn weeks to mess with you until you decided to talk. To tell you the truth, I’m starting to get sick of this shit-hole.” Pausing briefly in scowling at the guard and wishing him a slow and painful death, Shuyin pulled back a bit, his eyes widening. What did he just say? Did he say two—?

“But you know what?” the guard continued, his tone low and threatening. As he did, his grip somehow managed to tighten even more around Shuyin’s neck, and the latter had to do everything in his power to still breathe, yet keep from wheezing pathetically in the man’s grasp. Even if it was painful, he refused to give the man that pleasure. “For some reason, saints only know, the big guys upstairs are just _fascinated_ with you. ‘Oh look, a Zanarkan! He’ll tell us what we need to know!’ But you know something else? I don’t think you’re going to. I think you’re fucking worthless, and this is all a big damn waste of time.

“But—and here’s the crappy part—I can’t stop coming down here until they say the mission’s done. That means no job topside for me until you either talk, or you die. Personally, I don’t give a damn either way. It’s not my problem.” His face was less than an inch from Shuyin’s now, and when the blonde finally abandoned his pride and started gasping for air, he could smell the stench of cigarettes and cough drops on his breath. “But I’m getting fucking sick of coming down here when you’re not doing either,” the guard hissed with finality. “So either get busy talking, or get busy dying.” With that, he roughly cast Shuyin aside, flinging him right into the cell’s closest few bars. Just barely managing a pained scream as he desperately gulped in lungfuls of precious, stale as death air, Shuyin glared at the guard as he casually stepped back out through the door, and then slammed it shut behind him.

Chuckling at this oh-so-amusing display, the older guard turned his rifle up and leaned it against his shoulder once again, glancing down at Shuyin like a coeurl might at a beaten, half-dead chocobo. “Bet you’re sorry you messed with us now, ain’t you?” he said smugly. With that, he turned away, following his snickering comrade over to the switch that would start this monstrous machine turning again.

Shuyin didn’t move for a long time. Even after the guards had left and the Gaol machine had started moving again, he didn’t so much as budge, aside from when he was bounced about the cell like a moogle doll by the machine’s movements. Slowly, his breath returned, leaving room for the pain in his neck and back to intensify. However, he wasn’t focused on that. The guards’ words continued to play in his mind, never once losing their sting.

Bet you’re sorry. Two weeks. _Almost two weeks_! That was all the time . . . Lenne was . . . all he’d _had_ was two weeks. Two weeks to get into Bevelle and activate Vegnagun. Almost two weeks—he was almost out of time. The Bevelle troops were going to move, the summoners were going to leave Zanarkand, and when they met . . .

She was going to die.

Bet you’re sorry.

Slowly, every movement a struggle, Shuyin dragged himself to the nearest set of bars and gripped them tightly, though his grip had long been weakened by strain. Still, he was able to pull himself to his feet, the bars working as a perfect prop.

Bet you’re sorry.

The bruises on his neck and back ached. The voices of the guards reverberated through his head.

Bet you’re sorry.

“No, I’m not sorry! I haven’t done anything wrong!” he shouted, though he knew the guards were long gone. The camera was still there, he knew, floating around nearby, just waiting for him to say or do something incriminating. Sure enough, as he spoke, it bobbed in closer, its zoom mechanism twisting and homing in on him.

“I know you’re listening,” he hissed at the device, before his tone once again grew in intensity. “If she was your girl, what would you do?!”

If he’d been able to think rationally, he probably would have stopped right there. There wasn’t much they could do with a motive. Use it against him when the guards came for their rounds, but nothing else. He knew that if he kept going, he might reveal something that _was_. And yet, he couldn’t stop.

“How can you blame me for trying to use your weapon?” He shook his head fiercely, adrenaline and nervous energy making him shake. “It was the only way I could save the summoner!”

He had to say it. Had to hear himself say it. He had to remember why he was here, why he’d come to Bevelle in the first place.

“What would you do if you were me?” he screamed. Or maybe not. Maybe he wasn’t saying anything at all. Maybe he was just talking an insane sort of gibberish that only he could understand. But it didn’t matter. _He_ was the only one who needed to understand. He had to remind himself that his purpose, his one and only reason for coming here, wasn’t just the imaginings of a broken mind. He had to remember . . .

“Let me out!” he shouted. Then, once those last words had left his lips, his voice was conquered by a sob as feeble as the rest of him, because he _remembered_.

“I want to see her…” he finished, collapsing to his knees as his grip abated, his hands now loose on the bars.

The bruises on his neck and back ached. The voices of the guards reverberated through his head.

And . . . her smile. He could see her smile.

\---

“Lady Lenne? Are you all right?”

Gathering herself up and doing her best to calm her ragged breathing, Lenne turned and glanced over her shoulder, looking for the source of the voice. There stood a girl of no more than sixteen, a girl that Lenne knew only vaguely. Holding her summoning staff primly before her, the girl was giving Lenne a look that held the same sort of concern as her voice. “You look a bit unwell.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Lenne answered with a cheerful smile. “I’m fine. Just working on a bit of summoning.”

Though she didn’t seem entirely convinced, the girl nodded nonetheless. “All right. As long as you’re sure,” she replied, before taking up a spot behind Lenne in line and looking up at the surrounding buildings. Seeing that, Lenne clamped her eyes shut and glanced away as well, using all her willpower to keep herself from turning back and telling the girl to go home. This wasn’t a line for a person that young, no matter how good of a summoner they might be. As unremarkable as the line may have looked, at its end waited finality.

She’d been waiting and preparing for this day for quite a while, now. Or more, she’d been waiting for tomorrow. Today was more of a precursor, one last day to get everything squared away. That’s what brought her here, to the steps of Emperor Yevon’s palace (or, more accurately, a couple hundred yards away from the steps; it was a very long line). Here, she would finally complete the last step of the process she’d been following for some three months now. As soon as the emperor signed her passport, which felt much heavier than a slim little leaflet should have been, the procedure would finally be complete, and she would finally have everything she needed in order to be let out of Zanarkand. She had all the aeons, her estate was completely sorted out, she was soon to have the blessing of Emperor Yevon himself . . .

But that didn’t mean she was prepared. Unfortunately, the girl had been right in her observations: Lenne _was_ unwell. At the moment, she was weak, her muscles and joints both threatening to collapse beneath her right then and there. This was the adverse effect of trying to summon without a staff, and to her frustration and anxiety, it didn’t diminish, no matter how long and hard she trained. Even summoning the weakest of the aeons was a chore for her now.

She’d been told about this before. When she was young, and first becoming a summoner, the clergy had made it very clear that while one _could_ summon without a staff, it was the last thing any summoner would want to do. Without a staff to serve as a medium between them and the pyreflies, the summoner would have to draw them in without aid, which made the job nearly impossible. For what seemed like the millionth time in the past few days, Lenne wished she hadn’t lost hers.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her hands and shut her eyes once again, concentrating on summoning one of the weaker aeons. She had to keep trying. There were no options here. She had to go, and if she wasn’t ready, she didn’t even want to imagine what would become of her.

Putting all her energy and focus behind summoning one particular aeon—a tiny orange fluff ball of a feline—Lenne set her hands to twirling and twisting, trying to imitate the same motions that she would have performed with a staff in hand. Unfortunately, before she got even halfway through the sequence, her hands took on a rubbery feel and began to shake, and her focus was promptly broken. Holding the frail appendages to her chest in an attempt to halt their trembling, she sighed heavily, hanging her head. Oh, this looked bleak.

“Um, Lady Lenne,” intruded the girl once again, seemingly unable to suppress her curiosity anymore. “If I may, why are you,”—she paused for a moment, apparently searching for the proper words to describe Lenne’s strange behavior—“doing that?”

“Well,” started Lenne, feeling a blush creeping across her cheeks. It would have been embarrassing enough explaining her immense bout of stupidity to someone her own age, but a person at least five or six years her junior? Oh, _humiliating_. “I’m afraid I don’t have my staff at the moment, so . . .”

The girl blinked curiously and tilted her head to the side, further adding to the illusion of youth that made the fact that she was here so troubling. “You forgot it?”

“Well, um, in a way,” Lenne mumbled, gaze sweeping across the ground as a nervous grin made its way onto her face. “I—I sort of misplaced it.”

“You lost it?” the girl responded, eyes suddenly wide with a sort of alarm and horror that, for a moment, seemed like more than the situation really required to Lenne. She would have expected an expression like that to be attributed to something a little more horrendous, like someone kicking a chocobo chick, or something to that effect. Then she remembered just what kind of situation she was in, and then quickly realized just how unfortunately appropriate that look was. “But we’re leaving tomorrow,” the girl continued, “and you won’t be able to summon without a staff!”

“No, no, I can,” Lenne insisted, waving a hand as if to physically brush aside the girl’s worries. “It’ll just be a bit more difficult than normal, is all.” _D_ _ifficult_. More like impossible, Lenne thought, though she carefully kept that notion from permeating her words. If she could barely summon the weakest of the aeons, then the strongest ones—the ones that she’d planned to depend on in the contest against Bevelle—would be completely beyond her. Not only did that mean she was going to be practically useless in battle, but there was also a terrifying good chance that, if she couldn’t summon those aeons, there’d be nothing to protect her from the wrath of the enemy’s machina.

“Are you sure you can’t find it?” the girl pressed, as if this issue were as vital to her own well being as it was to Lenne’s.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Lenne answered. “I’ve looked everywhere for it.”

“And you can’t get a new one?”

“I tried to,” Lenne continued, fiddling idly with the cuffs of her sleeves, “but it’s a specialty item. And with Bevelle’s blockade, they really can’t afford to ship in things like that.”

“And you’re _absolutely_ sure you can’t find it?” The girl persisted. “When did you lose it?”

“I don’t know,” Lenne answered, ever patient. “All I remember is not being able to find it before I was scheduled to go the eastern temple, and it hasn’t turned up.”

“Have you asked your guardians? Might they know?”

Almost immediately, Lenne’s contented expression fell away as if torn from her face, a melancholy one moving in to take its spot. “Um, no,” she responded, her suddenly much quieter too. Her guardian. No, her guardian wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t be. Not in time. As much as she’d gone against her better judgment and hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d be back in time for one last goodbye, it hadn’t happened, and it wasn’t going to. She’d already gotten her last goodbye. “He’s not—”

And then it clicked. She had her staff where she’d gone to the temple with him. That was the last time she’d seen it. Then she was with him for all that time, and since it wasn’t anywhere else, it must have been . . .

“Ah!” Lenne said, her melancholy demeanor disappearing just as quickly as it had come in the face of this new revelation. Slapping her forehead, she laughed timidly at her own stupidity. “That’s where it is! It’s at his apartment. How silly.”

“His?” asked the girl, eyes that a moment ago had been wide with empathy now narrowed in curiosity and confusion. Lenne, however, just smiled and thanked her, further adding to the girl’s bewilderment. Turning away once again, Lenne finally set her tired hands to rest, not bothering with to continue her staff-less training. After all, as soon as she went and got her staff, she’d be back to her old strength. No need to put further strain on herself anymore. It was quite a relief, finally knowing where that trusty wand of hers was. It made her feel a little better about her situation.

A little.

\---

At first, Lenne had been worried that the door wouldn’t open for her. After all, Shuyin had been planning to go away for quite a while, so far as she was aware. Surely he would have locked his doors, maybe even turned off his lock registry so it wouldn’t be accessible to _anyone_ until he got back. If that was the case, she could kiss her beloved staff goodbye.

But, thankfully, she didn’t have to worry. The lock clicked gently as she gripped the door handle, and the door opened as smoothly as if the hinges had just been oiled. She couldn’t help but appreciate him for that, as small and unintentional a gesture as it was.

The world outside was dark (or, at least, as dark as Zanarkand ever got), night having fallen long before while she was still waiting in line and suffering the perpetual weight of her passport. His apartment was no better, the inside pitch black except for the elongated box of light that the open door created. Groping about the doorframe, she flipped the light switch there, but unfortunately to no effect. Apparently, being left empty for almost a month now hadn’t worked out favorably for Shuyin’s poor apartment, if his obviously cut power was any indication. Opening the door wider to let in as much light as she could, Lenne cautiously stepped inside, squinting through the shadows in search of anything familiar and stick-shaped.

Lenne had been hoping that her staff wouldn’t be difficult to find. In fact, though she’d known it was in vain, she’d still entertained the hope that it would be right there in plain sight, somewhere where only an idiot could have missed and forgotten it in the first place. That way, she could get in and out as quickly as possible, before too many of her memories of this place caught up with her. Unfortunately, as the logical part of her had known all along, it wasn’t, and even though she did her best to not pay attention to everything else in the apartment as she stepped inside, those memories of hers would not be ignored.

She saw him at the counter near the door, staring down a jar of something or other that refused to be opened. She remembered giggling at that, remembered the somewhat indignant look he cast her way that only made her laugh harder. At least, it made her memory-self laugh harder. She, however, merely turned away, nostalgia pricking uncomfortably at her insides.

Unfortunately, that didn’t find her any solace, either. She saw him sitting on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at the hand he’d just been dealt, rearranging it as he saw fit. He’d had to give her his shoes thanks to that hand, she recalled.

Clamping her eyes shut for a moment as the ache in her heart worsened, she once again turned her gaze elsewhere, this time toward the window. That, however, did her even less good. As Lenne made to turn the corner, feeling about the wall to guide herself safely around it, she saw herself standing in front of the glass, staring out at the ocean and smiling serenely. He was right there beside her, talking about something that she couldn’t quite recall anymore. He’d been smiling, she remembered. Smiling like the world could end right then and there and it wouldn’t have made any difference to him because he was so _happy_. It hadn’t been just him, either. She remembered, clearer perhaps, than she remembered anything else, that right then, she’d been smiling, too.

As she rounded the corner, thoroughly distracted by the workings of her own mind and blinded by the darkness, Lenne didn’t notice that something was standing in her path. Its presence was quickly brought to her attention, however, when she knocked her shins up against it and was sent tumbling over it with a surprised yelp and an embarrassing lack of grace.

Groaning and gingerly rubbing her now throbbing head, Lenne slowly glanced back, more than a little curious to know what it was that had sent her crashing to the none-too-forgiving wooden floor. Moving her leg from atop the object where it had been sitting rather awkwardly, Lenne squinted at the silhouette, pushing herself up some to get a better look.

It was a box; a fat, white, fit to bust box with no lid, and papers spilling haphazardly out of it. After a moment of wondering why Shuyin had felt the need to use a coverless box for paper storage (that had to get annoying, she thought, whenever a breeze came through), she quickly realized that said lack of lid was actually her fault. Currently, the rigged cardboard cover was lying, crushed, beneath her knees, having obviously been knocked into just the wrong place when she’d tripped.

An upset little sound escaping her lips, Lenne slowly got to her feet, cringing as she heard the sound of papers crinkling as she pushed herself off of them. Great. This was the first time she’d been in Shuyin’s apartment in a month, and she had to go and make a mess of something. Pulling herself up more carefully this time, she turned and squinted through the darkness, looking for the closest she knew was somewhere nearby. She wasn’t going to be able to do anything about those poor, mistreated papers if she couldn’t even see them, after all, and the apartment’s lack of power didn’t make things any easier for her. She needed a light sphere. Shuyin probably had an emergency stock somewhere and, assuming they did exist, they were probably in that closet of his, given that he didn’t exactly have a plethora of storage space to work with.

Crawling about with her hands pressed to the wall, Lenne slowly guided herself along it, wincing whenever she heard the dry crinkle of another bit of paper under her knee. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she found what she was looking for, the wobbly knob marking the closet door shaking as her hand bumped into it. However, when she pulled the door open and, without warning, was clonked atop the head by some unknown object, she suddenly wasn’t feeling quite so grateful.

Grunting indignantly as she fell back onto her backside, Lenne quickly tried to crab-walk out of the way, just incase something else decided to jump out of the closet and land on her (or the thing that already had resolved to attack, for that matter). However, when she felt the object land less than neatly against her knees, she paused. Suddenly, with its long, thin, tubular shape and apparent top-heaviness, the object in question didn’t seem quite so mysterious anymore.

Smiling for the first time since she set foot in the apartment, she slid the rod across her palms until it was properly balanced, the familiar feel of it both welcoming and an immense relief. So _that’s_ where her staff had ended up. No wonder she hadn’t been able to find it before.

Using the staff to push herself up, Lenne reached out once again and ran a hand along the inside wall of the closet, groping about for a shelf of some kind. Now that she had what she came here for, she just had to clean up the mess she’d made in the process of getting it, and then she could go. Hopefully then she’d be able to more effectively shut her mind to the memories that this place held (at least, she hoped so; leaving Zanarkand was already going to be hard enough, and she didn’t need those memories making it any harder for her).

After a few fruitless minutes of searching—Shuyin _really_ needed to clean out his closet more often—Lenne unearthed a lone sphere from the very corner of the closet’s top shelf. After giving it a good shake and watching as a bit of light sprung forth from the center and slowly grew to fill the enter ball, Lenne smiled again, concluding that there was, in fact, a bit of luck on her side. She’d have to keep a hold of that luck, she told herself. It would definitely come in handy tomorrow.

Holding the fully illuminated sphere over her head and setting her staff to the side, Lenne kneeled down to the floor once again, scooping up papers as quickly as she could with only one free hand. Making a point not to read any of the papers as she collected them and set them back in the box (they were Shuyin’s after all, and he deserved his privacy), she only stopped to cringe now and then at a particularly nasty wrinkle she’d left in this paper or that. Of course, she thought cynically as she picked up one such paper and tried her best to smooth it out, those just happened to be the papers that were the hardest to ignore, scribbled and written on with probably the darkest, most eye-catching pen she’d ever seen. Still, she did her best to ignore it, looking elsewhere as she flattened the document out as best she could. These were Shuyin’s, she had no business reading them, and—

Wait. What did that say?

As much as her conscience berated her not to look, Lenne couldn’t help but do a double take after seeing one particular document, partially hidden beneath one she’d just been flattening out. Did that say ‘Bevelle’? Her curiosity quipped beyond recovery, she guiltily reached down and pushed the other paper out of the way, fully uncovering the one that so tightly held her focus.

It did say Bevelle, she immediately realized. It was right in the header, big and bold and unmistakable. ‘Bevelle Underground,’ it said. Beneath that, there was a diagram of some kind, the ink faded and paper worn thin in lines across the drawing, as if it had been folded and unfolded too many times for its own good. Picking it up gently, as if it might crumble in her hands if handled too roughly, she held the light sphere near it, leaning in closer. It was a map of some kind, she realized as she scrutinized the bizarrely drawn sketch. It was rather disjointed looking, different parts of it seemingly hanging out in space, completely isolated from each other. The only indication that they were at all connected where a few tiny markers, showing where this hallway met that and which passage came out where. All in all, it seemed very maze-like, and was more than a little dizzying.

By now thoroughly confused, Lenne set the paper back down again, an uncertain and slightly ominous feeling rippling through her mind. Why exactly did Shuyin have a map of the Bevelle Underground? What possible use could it be to him?

That’s when her eyes fell on the second paper, the one she’d been smoothing out not a moment before. Indecision suddenly not a factor for her anymore, she turned toward it, her guilt now effectively silenced by confusion and interest. It was a list of some kind, she noticed immediately; a list in Shuyin’s handwriting. Some lines were circled, three or four in her immediate sight. However, almost all of them, as well as everything that hadn’t been circled, had been crossed off the list. Some had a bit of sloppily written postscript beside them, and though most of these makeshift footnotes were practically unreadable (who knew Shuyin’s handwriting could get so messy), she was able to make out things such as, “too slow”, “not possible”, and “too dangerous” amongst them. However, there was one thing that hadn’t been crossed off, and it was to this that Lenne’s attention was drawn. Hero Drink, it read. Get from Alchemist. Through blockade, into Bevelle—

“Into Bevelle?” Lenne yelped, unable to keep the shock of it exclusively to her mind. What was going on? Why did—what was—what had Shuyin been _doing_?

Half flinging, half flicking the list away as if it were something infectious, Lenne turned away from it, set the light sphere down, and stared wide-eyed into the darkness, unsure what to think. Bevelle. _Bevelle_. Why did Shuyin care about Bevelle? Why did he have a map? What was the list for? What else was here?

Eyes still widened to spectacular proportions, Lenne slowly turned back to the mess of papers beside her in the same way that one might turn and face a particularly vicious and terrifying fiend. Suddenly, they seemed a lot more numerous than they had before, scattered less than sparsely across the wooden floor. And these were just the ones that’d been knocked off the top of the pile when she’d stumbled over it. Suddenly, as she let her eyes flick toward that simple white box, it seemed quite a bit more ominous than it had before.

Gulping back a quivering sigh, Lenne reached behind her for the light sphere, though her eyes remained on the papers. They, too, were suddenly much more menacing than they had been half a moment ago. The things written on them—or drawn, in the case of the map—were effectively concealed by the darkness, leaving plenty of room for her imagination to fill in the blanks. Shuyin wanted into Bevelle, that much she knew. Also, if she could venture a guess, the specific place he wanted to get into was this Bevelle Underground, whatever it was. Those papers, she thought, trepidation seemingly taking form and crawling up her throat, must have held the rest of the information.

Her fingers finally wrapping around the smooth, bulbous, still strangely cool sphere, Lenne took a deep breath, trying both to calm the churning in her stomach and to stopper the swift, ceaseless flow of her imagination. After taking her sweet time exhaling, Lenne pulled the sphere forward and held it high, narrowed eyes practically glued to the papers. As terrified as she was, she knew she couldn’t just walk away. With that thought, she was ready.

However, her resolve was swiftly broken when, in one of the most anti-climatic displays she’d ever seen, everything remained completely dark. In turn, what little light she’d seen coming from the light sphere a moment before didn’t budge, staying firmly at the very corner of her vision where it was all but useless.

Once again thoroughly confused, Lenne glanced up at the sphere in her hand, only to find that it wasn’t the light sphere at all. In fact, from the look of it, it was a completely different _type_ of sphere all together. It was a video sphere, she concluded, and it had probably fallen out of the box with everything else. Hands quivering with anticipation and dread, she activated the sphere, a video springing to life inside.

Bevellian soldiers were the first things she saw clearly. Calm but stern looking Bevellian soldiers, clad in garb traditional of their position, and fully armed. They were guarding something, she realized as she watched one pacing the length of a long, thin platform. Yes, they were definitely guarding something. Something big . . .

And then that something came on the screen, and Lenne would have screamed had she had the mind to. However, shock seemingly freezing both her mind and her vocal cords, she was only able to choke out a gasp and continue to stare. Wha—what was _that_?

Without even thinking, Lenne flicked the sphere off, the picture fading off into nothing as the sphere became dark and quiet once again. Then, still running off that same unrealized momentum, she dropped to her knees and shoved the sphere back into the box, pressing past the papers still there until it thumped against the cardboard bottom. However, rather than retract her hand as she had done with the list, she kept her fingers clamped tightly around the sphere, staring at the floor as she tried to comprehend just what she had seen. What was that—that— _thing_ , and why did Shuyin have a sphere of it?

Bevellian soldiers had been guarding it, she realized, the gears in her mind pushing along with pronounced gradualness. That thing belonged to Bevelle. Shuyin had a sphere of it. Shuyin wanted into Bevelle. Shuyin wanted—

Before she could even finish the thought, Lenne released the video sphere, yanked her hand from the box and whirled about, snatching up the light sphere as quickly as she could. Realization, it seemed, was an incredibly powerful instigator. A blast of Thunder could have done no better.

Holding the sphere high over her head, Lenne ran both gaze and hands swiftly over the papers still scattered about the floor. She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly, amongst the various typewritten sheets and drawn on pages. However, that did little to stop her, especially when she started noticing one particular consistency amongst the files.

The first few papers she studied said nothing of it, or if they did, the writing was too small for her to notice in her haphazard scanning of them. However, soon enough, it began to pop up in headings, large and bold and impossible to ignore. It was but a word; a simple word that really should have been no more threatening than the others that surrounded and, in some cases, overwhelmed it. Yet, there was something about it that sent an ominous shiver trailing down her spine. Maybe that was because it ended in ‘gun’. _Vegnagun_. Half weapon, half beast, read one article, a clipping from a periodical. Harboring immense potential for destruction, it has the power to obliterate an entire city, read another. Bevelle government denies any involvement and claims it does not exist, read a third. A forth that she stumbled upon, its edge ragged as if it had been torn straight from a weekly, bore no words besides that one, particular one. The rest was taken up by a rather horrid looking picture of what looked like an armored skull with a spiked body, the barrel of a humungous gun protruding from its mouth. The dissimilarities were there, but regardless, it couldn’t be mistaken. This was the . . . _thing_ she had seen in that sphere. There was no question about it.

Then, as she continued her mad hunt for more information, she came across the map once again, and this time stopped to consider it beyond just its most obvious traits. At the very bottom of it the outline of what looked to be a large, circular room. Beside it, typed with a sort of neatness that didn’t seem at all fitting, was a small caption that read, Vegnagun’s Chamber. A thick, black X, which had obviously been added on at a later date, was drawn indiscreetly over the room.

No. Slowly setting down the light sphere and getting to her feet, Lenne stumbled backwards, covering her face with shaking hands as she knocked into the wall. No, no, no, no, _no_! This was all a mistake. It had to be. Shuyin wouldn’t—he just wasn’t—he couldn’t—he was out training for blitzball! _Training for blitzball_! This was all a huge, huge mistake.

Nearly fast enough to give herself whiplash, Lenne launched herself from the wall, just barely missing the couch and the box as she barreled toward the door, not caring what papers she stepped on this time. Her grip on the doorknob the only thing that stopped her from going over the railing, Lenne yanked the door shut hard enough to rattle the frame and sprinted down the walkway. It wasn’t true. None of it was true. She could prove it.

\---

The first thing he heard when his cell touched down was the sound of them laughing. That was never a good sign. Since the very first day of his imprisonment, he’d learned time and time again that whenever he heard those two guards laughing, it meant bad news for him.

Slowly, Shuyin rolled over to face the front of the cage, then quickly scooted back, far enough away so that he was out of reach in the event that either of the guards decided to take a swing at him. However, as they got closer, he saw that it was an unnecessary precaution. Even when they reached the bars of his cage, they were still too busy laughing to bother.

“Hey there, lover-boy,” said the younger guard, casually leaning against the bars and giving Shuyin a fiendish smirk (one that, to Shuyin, was disturbingly reminiscent of that of an Anything Eater he’d seen in a book once). “So that’s what this was all about? All for some pretty little piece of ass back home?”

Huh? What was he—oh. Oh damn.

“Oh, don’t you remember?” the guard asked. Clearing his throat with no attempt at subtly, he took on a whiny, mocking voice, shouting, “’If she was your girl, what would you do?! It was the only way I could save the summoner!’”

Great, just great, Shuyin thought as he clamped his eyes shut and let out a pitiful groan. He’d _known_ this was going to happen if he said anything. He should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut.

“Ah, now it remembers,” the other guard commented, sounding just as disturbingly pleased as his cohort. “Can’t forget the sound of its own whiny voice, huh?”

Though the urge to tell the guard to go do something particularly inappropriate with that bayonet of his was almost painfully difficult to ignore, Shuyin kept silent. He may have been out of reach of their swinging rifles, but if they decided to go with magic or, better yet, use those guns the way they were designed to be used, he was out of luck. As psychologically painful as just lying there and taking their insults might have been, it was still best to stick to the path that cost him the least amount of physical pain. He could survive the psychological kind for a bit longer, after all.

“So,” continued the first guard, tapping the business end of his bayonet against the bars of the cage, “anything else you want to tell us? Anything at all? About, oh I don’t know, maybe the summoners? Their plans?”

Shuyin had long been aware that looks could not, in fact, kill. Still, he swore that the glare that he gave the guard in response was at least powerful enough to send the man into a temporary coma. However, he had no such luck, and the guard merely laughed another one of those infuriatingly smug laughs of his.

“Hm. So it’s going to go ahead and be a martyr for dear old Zanarkand,” the older guard observed, leaning in to look at Shuyin as if he were some sort of animal put out on display (but then, Shuyin thought bitterly, that comparison really didn’t seem too far off, anymore).

“Looks like it,” the younger guard answered, nodding and giving his partner a casual shrug. “Not like anyone’s going to care. Everyone who gives a shit is gonna to be dead in a few days.” After a quick pause for what Shuyin guessed was supposed to be dramatic effect, the guard added, “Including summoner-girl.”

Tensing at that comment and the biting truth that he knew was behind it, Shuyin finally glanced away from the guard, unconsciously curling up into himself. He just had to tune them out, he told himself as he shut his eyes and rested his head on his arm, trying his best to look uninterested. Ignore them, until they got bored and left. That was all he needed to do. Ignore them.

“You know, we should do it a favor, don’t you think?” the younger guard, and Shuyin was just barely able to keep his wince of trepidation mental. A favor. _Great_. That could only end badly for him. Still, he just had to ignore it. Ignore it, _ignore it_ . . .

“We should go get summoner-girl and bring her here.”

. . . What?

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice of us?” the guard continued, his nonchalant tone doing nothing to disguise the pointedness of the statement. “Wouldn’t be too hard. We know enough about her now, thanks to pretty boy. Just go pluck her out of its precious Zanarkand and bring her here. Easy.”

No. No, that wasn’t true, Shuyin thought, clamping his eyes shut as if that might magically block out the guard’s voice. It wasn’t true! He hadn’t said nearly enough for them to be able to find her. Not nearly enough. They were just messing with him, trying to get him to talk. He’d known they were going to do this. He had ignore them. _Ignore them_ —!

“How would you like that, eh pretty boy?” the guard said, making no attempt to hide his enjoyment at making Shuyin squirm. “Wouldn’t that be nice of us? You’d get to see your little girlfriend again. And hey,”—he chuckled darkly, his voice deepening to an insinuating growl as he started making obscene hand gestures—“it works out great for me and the partner here, too. We get a new toy to play with. So, really, everybody wi—”

Shuyin had no idea how he moved so fast. He hadn’t thought he was capable of it, what with the condition he was in. The guard apparently hadn’t, either, or maybe Shuyin had just been moving too quickly for him. Either way, the man didn’t manage to dodge as the blonde shot a hand through the bars, grabbed him by the neck, and slammed his visor-covered face into the bars with all his might.

“What did you say?!” Shuyin heard himself bellow at the stunned, profusely bleeding guard. Shoving the guard back with what felt like enough force to snap his neck, Shuyin yanked him back again, splattering himself and the bars with the man’s blood. “I’ll kill you! You bastard, I’ll fucking _kill_ you _—_!”

He barely felt it the first time the other guard’s rifle came down on his arm. He was too obsessed with the bleeding man in his hand, too obsessed with choking the life out of him because _how dare he say that about her I’ll kill him I’ll kill him I’LL KILL HIM_! He didn’t feel it the second time either, when it crashed against the side of his neck. However, his body did. His fingers going limp, he staggered backward a bit, and the older guard took the opportunity to rip his bleeding comrade from Shuyin’s grasp. With that, Shuyin crumbled to the ground, slamming hard against the floor of his cell as the intact guard dragged his partner to a safe distance.

However, even as the guard raised his rifle at Shuyin, daring him to so much as twitch, Shuyin couldn’t stop himself. Or, maybe he really didn’t want to. Either way, he kept going. “Don’t you talk about her like that!” he screamed, reaching for the bars of the cage and gripping one weakly, trying to drag himself forward. “She—don’t you— _Don’t talk about her_!”

A grimace on what Shuyin could see of his face, the guard snorted in disgust and lowered his rifle. Apparently, Shuyin wasn’t even worth his bullets at this point. Stepping back to the cell and grabbing his partner’s gun, he glared, enraged and repulsed, down at the blood-splattered Shuyin. “You’re gonna regret that,” he hissed threateningly before kicking blonde’s fingers. Yelping pathetically, Shuyin yanked them back, cradling them to his chest with a hiss of pain. He cursed the guard again, this time not at all afraid to tell the guard exactly what to do with that bayonet of his.

Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, he watched as the guard returned to his partner, lifted him up, and helped him limp away from the Gaol. Soon enough, the machine was moving again, rocking and jostling Shuyin about painfully.

He had to get out of here. He knew they’d said that to stir him up, no doubt about it. But what if the next step was to actually make good on their threat? What if they actually found Lenne and brought her here and . . .

He had to get out. That was all. He had to escape from this place before it was too late. Before Bevelle could lay a hand on Lenne.

Finally, something was going to change in the Gaol. He was going to escape. He just—his vision was fading, darkness eating away at the already dark scene before him—all he needed was a bit of rest . . .


	17. Chapter 17

There was a perfectly good explanation for this.

“Well, look ‘oos here!” Yasuo hollered when he pulled open his apartment door and, after pausing long enough for his liquor-dimmed mind to catch up with him, saw Lenne standing just beyond the doorframe. “Iss Lenne! How you doin’, girly? How’s life treatin’ ya?”

This looked bad, Lenne admitted to herself, trying to keep her breathing in check and maintain her composure. Shuyin was supposed to be out at sea, practicing with his team. Yasuo was on his team. Yasuo was _not_ out at sea. So that meant . . .

But there had to be a good explanation. Surely, there was some _other_ reason that Yasuo was still here. A sickness, maybe, or perhaps his coach had him stay behind. That was possible. Likely, even. After all, if getting this drunk was a common enough occurrence, it would make perfect sense that they would leave him here. The smell of liquor on him was strong enough for her to end up drunk via osmosis, she thought, and she’d barely been in his company for a minute. Yeah, that was it. That was perfectly logical.

“Yasuo,” she said, speaking slowly, as if talking to a child, “what’s going on? Why aren’t you with Shuyin and—?”

“Shuyin? Ey, Shuyin’s here?” Yasuo interrupted, a goofy grin spreading across his face. Leaning out the door, he swung his head from side to side, apparently looking for the blonde. “I ‘aven’t seen that guy in forever!”

“No, he’s not here,” Lenne said, straining to keep her voice level. She had to calm down. He was drunk. The training mission had probably just slipped his mind. That was it. “You’re supposed to be—”

“Oh!” Yasuo said theatrically, slapping his forehead a bit harder than was probably necessary. “I remember now!” However, just as relief was trickling into her mind and the invisible hand clenching her heart loosened its grip, Yasuo’s added, “So e’s dead now, huh?”

Lenne had always hoped that her most prominent memories would be happy ones. Ones that, once her inevitable fall came in the fight against Bevelle, would comfort her on her way to the Farplane. Yet, as she stood in that rundown apartment building, frozen and facing a smiling drunk that had the power to snap the universe with five slurred words, she knew that was no longer possible. “What?”

“He did it, didn’ he?” said Yasuo gleefully, in stark contrast to her paralyzing shock. Attempting to clap, missing, trying again, and then sloppily succeeding, he jovially cried, “Shuyin went and won the war for us!”

“Yasuo,” Lenne said, gazing unblinkingly at nothing and speaking in the barest of whispers, “what are you talking about?”

“You don’ know?” Yasuo asked, tilting his head so far to the side that, had she been in a better state, Lenne might’ve reached out to keep him from toppling over. However, with a speed he shouldn’t have possessed in his current condition, Yasuo shot back up a moment later, laughing obnoxiously. “Oh yeah!” he crowed, putting a hand against the doorframe to steady himself and completely missing Lenne’s shell-shocked expression. “Tha’s right! He didn’t tell you!”

Lenne hazily registered that there was a tingling in her joints—her knees, elbows, shoulders—and in a moment that lasted far longer than a moment should have, she had the vague feeling that they would snap beneath her weight.

“Shuyin’s gone and won the war for us!” Yasuo yelled, gesturing erratically up at the sky, nearly losing his balance, compensating, and then smiling at her. “Went and blew it up good! Bam! Kaput! No more war! Now his pretty lil’ sum’ner gets to stay home.”

She stared at him, past him, through him. Back to Shuyin’s apartment, to the sphere, to image of that _thing_ —

“You should feel lucky,” Yasuo said, clapping her on the shoulder like an old friend and nearly making her collapse. “He really liked you. Went and got hisself blown to smithereens so you wouldn’t have to go sum’ning. That’s ded’cation, right there.”

Shuyin . . . _No_.

“Hey, hey, come on,” Yasuo said, noticing that she was quivering long before she did. He stepped forward, set his hands firmly on her shoulders, and shot her a drunken version of his most winning smile. Leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the cheek, he said, “Don’t look so down. Come on in. I got some good ol’ Luca Black in here. We can cry about it together.”

If Lenne had been paying attention, she might have noticed the way his hands slid down her shoulders and gently stroked her arms. Perhaps she might even have noticed the way he was leaning into her shoulder, breathing much deeper than he had been a minute before. However, there were only three things on her mind: blue eyes, a warm smile, and a giant, metal monster.

So, for once in her life, she didn’t stop to consider being polite as she ripped herself from Yasuo’s grasp. As she tore down the hallway, she ignored—no; didn’t even hear—the sound a body crashing to a floor. She didn’t even stop to listen to the slurred curses that chased her down the hall.

And she never stopped to wonder if she’d ever see Yasuo again.

\---

The next hour went by in a blur. Lenne remembered starting for Shuyin’s apartment, then stopping, backtracking, going a completely different way. She ran to the checkpoint and, hands clasped together, begged the two guards manning it to let her through. It wasn’t until she tried to hold up her signed passport that she noticed how badly her hands were shaking.

Even in her dizzy haze, as images of Bevellian guards flashed through her mind and she tried to keep her body from shaking itself into dust, the looks the guards gave her split through everything. Hard, sharp gazes, eyes narrowed as they told her, with an undue amount of emphasis, that she wasn’t scheduled to leave until tomorrow. It wasn’t until she found herself opening Shuyin’s apartment door that she realized it was disgust in their eyes. Disgust for a fleeing traitor.

She had to lean against the door for a minute after that.

She watched the sphere. The whole thing, this time, at least twice. Or maybe she didn’t. Several times, she stirred from her reverie to find she was much farther through the video than she realized, and once she found herself staring into a darkened sphere.

She went over the papers. She found the map again. She found a list of supplies he’d written down for the journey. So, he’d walked to Bevelle, then. Or maybe he was still walking. Maybe, if the guards had only let her out . . .

She leaned against the couch. Or, more, collapsed against it. As she stared at the papers, creased from where she had stepped or kneeled on them, not a sound came from the apartment around her. She’d never known a silence more piercing.

And, somewhere in that silence, she started to think.

Shuyin had a list of ways to get out of Zanarkand. She remembered it from earlier. How many things had been on that list? Ten? Twelve? Surely not all of them were impossible . . .

She found the sheet quickly enough, buried beneath a page from a magazine and a scrawled-on newspaper article. There were about fifteen things on the list. Half of them were ludicrous (he’d written down to steal one of the pleasure boats from the D-South docks, even though most of them barely had enough fuel to circle the cape). Two others, which included physically taking out the guards at the checkpoint and—Lenne gasped at this—threatening the emperor until he was let out of the city—were dangerously impractical. At any other time, the fact that those two had been even more vigorously scratched out than the others would have comforted her. However, she had no attention to spare; she was already on the lists three remaining options.

The first, Hero drinks, would take too long. Provided she could even find any of the stuff, as rare as it was, she’d never be able to walk over the mountain in time. The second choice, which was to hijack one of the cruisers set aside for the summoners at the checkpoint, was too risky. She’d be spotted in a minute, and hunted down in less.

That left only the third option, the one with only a single, thin dash through it. Apparently, Shuyin had actually considered this one. ‘Airship,’ it read. ‘Get to Bevelle in a day.’ Then, right next to it, in the same color ink as the dash, were the words, ‘Too dangerous. Spotted immediately’.

Lenne didn’t bother letting that bit of logic slow her down. Already, she was holding the list closer, squinting at the address scrawled alongside the word. There was a name there, too. Doubtlessly that of the person she would need to see.

Folding the paper up, she tucked it away into one of her sleeves and headed out the door, almost forgetting to close it in her haste. She was off to the downtown area, to find someone by the name of Cid.

\---

“Are you wrong in the head or somethin’?” Cid asked skeptically, cocking her hip and lifting her welding goggles so she could scrutinize Lenne properly. “D’you miss the fact there’s a war goin’ on, babe?”

“No, no, I know,” Lenne answered, waving her hands and doing her best not to stare. It was a bit difficult, though. Given that the ‘hanger’ had turned out to be a rundown repair garage in the dingiest part of downtown Zanarkand, Lenne had hardly expected to find out that the ‘Cid’ she was searching for was a woman. However, after getting a good look at her—lean muscles underneath the sleeves of her fireproof suit, a soot-tattooed face, and what looked suspiciously like a holster attached to her belt—it became pretty clear that this _Cid_ was in her element. “I just . . . I really need to get to Bevelle. Can you please help me?”

“Lemme get this straight,” Cid said with all the concern of a dead agama. “You want me to risk my neck flyin’ you out of here, when we’ll get tossed in the clink if we get caught, and then take you to Bevelle, where they’ll shoot us down the second they spot us. Is that what you’re askin’ me to do?”

“Well, but, it wouldn’t go like that,” Lenne said, trying to sound confident while stammering, looking down, and wringing her hands.

“Actually, babe, tha’s _exactly_ how it would go,” Cid replied, brushing filth off the bridge of her nose (not that it did any good; from the looks of it, the soot stains that covered the repairwoman’s every inch were just this side of permanent).

“Not if you didn’t fly over Bevelle!” Lenne countered. “You wouldn’t even have to get that close. You could drop me off nearby. I can make it the rest of the way on foot!”

“Look, babe,” Cid said, giving Lenne the same sort of look one would give a yapping puppy. “I dun know why you want into Bevelle. I’m kinda thinkin’ you might be a spy or somethin’. Maybe you’re jus’ crazy. Either way, it ain’t happenin’.”

“But if I pay you—!”

“Not for all the gil to your name, hon. Sorry.” Putting her goggles back over her eyes with finality, Cid turned away, waving a hand over her shoulder in farewell (though it looked more like she was trying to dispel a pest).

It took a moment for Lenne to notice that she was shaking. That her hands were slowly curling into fists, nails digging into her palms. That her eyes had clamped shut and she’d bent her head in something not unlike defeat. However, when next she spoke, it was with complete and utter confidence: “Five-hundred thousand gil!”

A pause. The entire garage went silent, aside from the sound of the repairwoman’s resounding footsteps. Then, without even breaking stride, Cid turned on a heel and waltzed back to Lenne. Apparently, she was intrigued.

“Five-hundred thousand gil,” Lenne repeated, quieter this time. “It’s—it’s all I have, but I’m willing to pay it.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, which seemed out of place in a busy repair garage. Not a single bang of tool against metal, nor the buzz of a soldering iron. Apparently, Cid’s sparse supply of workers had taken interest in Lenne’s offer as well. However, Lenne couldn’t bring herself to care if they were listening or not. Right now, Cid was the only one that mattered.

After a moment that felt as heavy as if it, like everything else in this garage, had been coated with grease, Cid sighed dramatically. “Babe,” she stated, her goggles suddenly on her forehead once again, and her green eyes boring into Lenne, “wha’s so damn special ‘bout Bevelle, huh?”

“Will you do it?” Lenne asked, clamping her hands together beseechingly. Not the most graceful of sidesteps, admittedly, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. She certainly wouldn’t be telling Cid the truth.

After taking another agonizing moment to tap the filthy lenses of her goggles in thought, Cid finally shrugged. “Whatever you want, babe,” she said, then turned toward the still silent garage. “Biggs! Wedge!” she shouted, her words echoing off the metal walls as the sounds of work miraculously started up again. “Get the Barbuta ready!” Glancing over her shoulder—an act that immediately took Lenne’s attention away from two gangly-looking workers who’d just looked up at Cid, eyebrows raised—Cid gave Lenne a wide smile, showing off teeth that were just as stained as the rest of her. “I’m takin’ lil’ Miss Persistent for a ride.”

\---

It didn’t take Lenne long to figure out why Cid called her ship the Barbuta. It looked exactly like one—round, tough, and angry, all thick metal and jagged edges. That wasn’t what surprised her. What surprised her was the fact that she recognized it.

“This is—!” she started, taking a step forward, eyes wide as she scanned the vessel’s bulky frame. “This is one of Bevelle’s cruisers!”

“Not anymore it ain’t,” Cid chuckled, banging a fist against the hull the same way someone like her might punch a friend in the shoulder. “It was a lil’ present from the summoners after they blew up the pilot. Did a good job, too. They didn’ even sink this one.”

After affording Cid a few seconds of dumbstruck silence, Lenne turned back toward the ship, suddenly seeing it in a much more ominous light. The body of it was charcoal black, most likely made that way by a few well-placed fire spells. The windows, which had obviously been blasted out during battle, had been haphazardly replaced with a sort of plexi-glass material (which looked like it wouldn’t be able to stand a light breeze, let alone takeoff). The upholstery, from what she could see, was hopelessly burnt, and it looked as if one of the seats had been reupholstered with a blanket that wasn’t much better off. Then, of course, there were the wings, which looked entirely out of place, welded to the sides of the boat like they were. The fact that they were each twice the length of the ship’s entire body didn’t make the picture any more convincing.

Leaning against her slapdash pride and joy, Cid brushed a hand over a circle of faded red on its side that, after a moment, Lenne recognized as the Bevelle insignia. “Turns out this thing’s gonna be kinda handy. Good thing we didn’ get around to scrapin’ it off yet.”

Though Lenne couldn’t help but think that a faded insignia wouldn’t be nearly enough to counteract the ship’s obviously welded-on wings and other adjustments, she decided not to say anything. The knowledge that this was the only way to get to Bevelle kept her lips tightly shut (and if it hadn’t, the fact that she was putting her life in the hands of a filthy repairwoman and a rusty, hardly flight-worthy pseudo-plane would have scared the words straight off of her tongue).

“Problem is,” Cid went on, oblivious to Lenne’s apprehension, “‘s gonna be a lil’ bit of an issue when we try’an take off.”

Lenne knew that wasn’t true, and she knew that Cid knew it. It didn’t matter if their ship had a Bevelle insignia, or if it was dawning Zanarkand colors from windshield to exhaust pods. They could even be playing the city’s war hymn through their radio transmitter, for all it mattered. They were still going to be fired on the second they were spotted.

But she couldn’t think about that. No matter what, she had to go. She’d already lost one guardian, a forever ago. She wasn’t going to lose another one. Especially not when that one was—

“Well, she’s all ready,” Cid said, giving the wing an affection whack (and it didn’t fall off, either, much to Lenne’s surprise). She was smiling a wide, excited smile, suddenly more like a child than a jaded repairwoman. “Might as well get this over with ‘fore the sun comes up. Come on.”

\---

It hadn’t moved all day. At least, that’s what the guys at the security station had told them. Before some bad wiring had killed their video feed about fifteen minutes ago (those cameras were pieces of shit, but of course, the department couldn’t afford to invest in some that actually worked), all they got was video of the prisoner not moving an inch. Not since it’d been hit with that gun.

The two guards—one kneeling, one leaning—considered the prone body on the other side of the bars. It looked just as disgusting now as it had when it was awake and breathing (it _had_ come from Zanarkand, after all). The one difference was that it wasn’t glaring at them, cursing, or trying to break their faces.

“I think it’s dead,” the older guard said, as emotional as someone who'd misplaced their keys (no, less than that; people who’d done that actually cared enough to want them back).

The younger guard glared through his visor at the corpse, gingerly touching his nose. It had healed, of course, after a couple of potions. However, he could still feel the dent where it had been broken.

“Check it,” he said as he turned to his partner, nodding toward the prisoner. Sighing in a way that said he’d rather just call it good and get rid of the body now— _his_ face was no worse for wear, what’d he care?—the older guard stepped up to the cage, slid the butt of his rifle through the bars, and brought it down, hard, on the prisoner’s legs (the back of the head would’ve been more satisfying, but the way he was laying, that unfortunately couldn’t be reached). The bastard twitched a bit, and for half an instant, a smile sprang onto the younger guard’s face. However, when he realized that the corpse had only been jerking under the gun the same way any somewhat-mushy object would, it quickly turned into a grimace. Great. Awesome. Bastard had gotten the easy way out.

“All right, all right,” he said, waving a hand in defeat. “Standard protocol. Keep your gun on it. I’ll check its pulse.” Not that he wanted to, or anything. It was pretty damn clear that it was dead. Still, it was standard procedure, and there was a camera right there (well, not _right_ there, he realized, since he couldn’t see or here it; however, it was still around here somewhere, and that was all he needed to know). If one of them didn’t check the body, they’d get roasted by the general. As shitty and degrading as it was, he’d rather waste two seconds of his life and check the damn body than an hour getting shouted at.

Of course the bastard couldn’t die where it could be reached from the bars, the guard thought bitterly as he slid his keycard through the lock. It had to die with its head on the other side of the cell. It just lived—and died—to make his life inconvenient. Stupid fucker.

Checking over his shoulder to make sure his partner had his gun at the ready (more for the cameras sake than anything, of course), he knelt down and grabbed the prisoner’s wrist, holding his fingers to it. Saints, he hated this bullshit. He should’ve been topside, headed out with the rest of the troops to kill some Zanarkan scum. But no. He was down here, doing clean-up duty on a mission that had roped them all of jack shit. Ah well. At least, he assured himself, he’d have time to mutilate the bastard’s corpse when they took it to the incinerator—

He had just enough time to feel the slightest drum of a pulse before he heard the sound of a fingersnap.

\---

The spells worked like a charm, no pun intended. They hit the guards right on top of their heads, drawn there by their ugly metal helmets. Though he got a bit of the backlash on one of them (the guy was touching him, after all; it was only to be expected), it wasn’t anything terrible. That was the cool thing about spells: when they had targets, they hit them.

He was up before the two of them had even stopped twitching. He cracked the first guard in the face, the plexi-glass of the man’s visor shattering like a sheet of sugar. Second visor in two days. Shuyin couldn’t help but smile.

The second guard was a bit trickier. He was farther away, had a gun, and, unlike his partner, wouldn’t succumb to the pain of having a nose re-broken. So, Shuyin had to improvise. Just as the man was starting to get over the shock from the Thundara he’d been hit with (ha, shock; he was so _funny_ ), Shuyin snapped his fingers again, shooting off a fire spell. Admittedly, this didn’t have nearly the same power behind it, being only a first-stage spell. However, it served its purpose, and bought him all the time that he needed.

Before the guard’s clothes even had time to stop smoldering, Shuyin was on him. This guard, too, got a fist to the face. That wasn’t enough, of course, so he took it a step further. Wrenching the bayonet from the man’s grasp, Shuyin swung it around and smashed the side of the man’s face with it, sending him tumbling to the side and nearly off the edge of the platform.

He should’ve just kicked the guy off the edge. It would’ve been quicker, and just as effective. But he couldn’t. These people had tortured him. Relentlessly. Happily. For weeks.

They’d threatened Lenne.

Raising the gun above his head, Shuyin brought it down with all his might, breaking the guard’s face. The man made a repulsive gurgling noise as Shuyin pulled the gun back. He weakly reached up, hand shaking, as if begging for mercy.

Shuyin brought the gun down again, and again, and again. They hadn’t shown him any mercy.

When he was finally finished, blood smeared over most of the gun and splattered in practically invisible flecks over his black pants, the guard didn’t have much by way of a face left. Letting the butt of the gun drop to the floor, Shuyin took a few deep, calming breaths. Glancing around, he looked off into the corner of the room, into the shadows of the pathway. There, he could vaguely see the outline of a broken machine. Good. It was still out. That’d only taken one fire spell, too, Shuyin thought. These cameras they had down here were pretty crappy.

Standing up straight, he took one more, extremely deep breath. Step one was done. He was out. Time for step two.

Setting the gun down, he stepped back into the cage (which, given that he’d just gotten out, nearly sent him into a fit) and knelt down. After making sure the guard was out cold by cracking him in the face one more time (and _only_ to make sure he was out), Shuyin started going through the man’s pockets, rifling around for anything that might be useful. A lightning gem, which Shuyin pocketed, a wrapper, some lint, and—Shuyin practically cried with joy—a potion.

Tearing the plastic sleeve open so fast that he nearly lost half the contents, Shuyin gratefully downed it, feeling the cooling touch of it healing him. He could feel his most recent sores healing, particularly the one on the back of his head. His skin would carry the scars of those injuries as long as he lived, of course, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know how much longer that was going to be, anyway.

After going through the other guard’s pockets and finding another potion that he drank with equal vigor, he got to work on the bodies. After using the older guard’s clothes to clean off the bloody rifle, he put a foot against the man chest, and pushed. Without even the tiniest bit of resistance or protest, the man went plummeting into the abyss below the Gaol. Ignoring the sickeningly squishy thud that came after, Shuyin grabbed the other guards feet, dragging him out of the cage.

Smiling wickedly as the man’s head bounced off the down step, Shuyin couldn’t help but feel a mocking gratitude to this man. Had he not gotten Shuyin angry enough to throttle him, Shuyin never would’ve been beaten into unconsciousness, and he never would’ve woken up to find his store of magic energy partially returned. So, in a sick, twisted way, he supposed he should be thankful.

Of course, that didn’t save the guy from the abyss.

\---

Lenne winced as Fenrir crashed through the foliage separating them from a shore, nearly taking out a whole tree in his urge to follow her command. She half-expected the Bevellian armada to descend on them instantly after a racket like that.

Promising herself that the next time she commanded an aeon to take her somewhere in a hurry, she’d specify that they do it quietly, Lenne slid from Fenrir’s broad back and onto the glitteringly white sand. Once there, she stumbled, barely catching herself against Fenrir’s side. Apparently, summoning him without a staff had taken more out of her than she’d realized.

She felt so stupid. How could she have forgotten it? It’d been right there, in Shuyin’s apartment. The only reason she’d even gone there was to get it back!

However, at the very least, she thought, she could now be thankful that she hadn’t had it these past few weeks. If she hadn’t been practicing all that time, she never would’ve been able to summon Fenrir, let alone what she needed to summon next.

Patting Fenrir on the head (he’d served her extremely well, carrying her all the way from where Cid had dropped her off at Macalania Lake), she commanded him to return. In response, he bolted off into the night-blackened forest, and soon enough, she felt him return to her, a rush of power in the back of her mind. Too bad that power couldn’t transfer directly to her. She could’ve used it right about now.

Sighing, Lenne shivered, tugging at the ratty, brown blanket around her shoulders. If she came back from this little journey, Zanarkand defeated Bevelle, and Cid somehow managed to keep herself hidden until peace was restored, Lenne would have to look her up. She’d been kind enough to offer Lenne this lovely bit of upholstery so she wouldn’t freeze when she laid down behind the seats (after sitting through a demonstration on the repairwoman’s spectacular missile-dodging skills, she’d needed it). She’d even been nice enough to pretend she hadn’t heard the choked sniveling that’d come from behind her right around then. Lenne owed that woman, even after the gil. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to make friends outside of the summoners.

But she couldn’t worry about that right now.

Taking another deep, calming breath, Lenne held her hands above her head, focusing her energy. The serpent. The soul of the Navy-man. Focus. _Focus_.

She started to spin her hands, twist them the way she would if she’d actually had her staff. Almost immediately, she started to ache. First in her fingers, then her arms, her body, her mind, her heart. She could feel energy starting to whirl and crackle above her hands, and it suddenly struck her that she was probably letting off a terrible lot of light.

The clearer the aeon’s image became in her mind, the more her body felt like it was going to give way. Her hands started to freeze up, her arms turned to jelly, her stomach threatened to empty itself onto the sand. A scream of misery rose in her throat, but she bit it back, turned it into a pitiful whimper.

Then, just as she thought she could take no more, she swung her hands out, sending the loop of pure energy hurtling into the sea. Just as she had feared, it was terribly bright, nearly blinding her when she opened her eyes. However, once it touched the water, it went out with a sound like that of a bursting kettle, sinking below the surface with a hiss and a puff of steam.

She waited. For a moment, she feared she had let it go too soon. She didn’t have enough energy to do that again. If it didn’t form—

However, a second later, she breathed a sigh of relief as Leviathan gracefully snaked out of the water and weaved its way up to her. She patted its nose as it bent down, hovering just high enough for her to mount it. Holding onto Cid’s blanket as tightly as she could, Lenne climbed up, resting just behind the creature’s head. No one was coming for them yet, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t last long. They had to get moving.

As Leviathan started to head away from the shore, Lenne turned and got her first good look at Bevelle. It was exactly as it looked in photographs, high-walled and seemingly impenetrable. Even at night, it absolutely glowed, exactly the way Zanarkand did.

It was thanks to that glowing that, as they approached, she spotted a way in. Glancing along the city’s high, concrete walls, she spotted what looked like a miniscule hole, glowing with backwash light from the city. In reality, it was probably the size of a large doorway. Definitely big enough for a woman and an aeon. An aeon that had no problem scaling a hundred-or-so foot wall.

“There,” she whispered, though the aeon didn’t even need that. She only needed to think for it to understand. “Right there.”


	18. Chapter 18

There was a hundred yards between Lenne's hiding place and the complex's front doors, and that presented a significant challenge.

A shined leather boot came down in front of her face, its shadow joining those of the storm drain bars against her skin. Ducking just long enough for the shoe's owner to disappear from her limited sight, she stood again, staring across the street and chewing her lip. There stood the complex (and while at first she hadn't believed it, a quick look at the surrounding wall and the strict-looking military types that passed through it assured her that she had the right place) short and stocky, imposing if only thanks how little of it sat revealed. Fingers shaking, she gingerly reached into her sleeve, plucking at the map deposited there. Already, she could see miles of blackened tunnels, miles of labyrinth, merciless Bevellian guards no kinder than the ones she'd already met. Then, at the end of it all—she twitched, shivered as her heart did. That, that _thing_ filled her mind, the lights of the glyphs shining off its bulk and those dead eyes stared into her from the other side of the sphere.

The stench of her hiding place chose that moment to again overcome her dazed mind and she stumbled, one hand steadying her against the sewer wall while the other became her nose's meager defense. Only ignoring the feeling of revolting filth beneath her palm by the grace of her migraine, she coughed, gulped, tried to breath.

After a few moments of barely contained nausea, Lenne gingerly turned her head, eyes falling once again to the street beyond the drain's rusting bars. There were hundreds of people here, hundreds of pairs of feet gracing the decorative, butter-colored cobblestone, the clicking of heels and the sound of their owners' chatter engulfing her in an impenetrable racket (and yet, she thought with an unpleasant twinge in her gut, how familiar it seemed). She would never get past a crowd this size without notice. The seconds ticking by with painful rapidity, she clamped her eyes shut, desperately urging herself to think. There was no time to find another way in. She had to surface here—there was a personnel hatch not five yards to her right, set a stone's throw from the complex. She merely needed a distraction, and then . . .

The answer was obvious after that, if excruciating. Letting out a short, quiet whimper as her temples throbbed and her head renewed its spinning, she forced herself upright. Breathing deeply once, twice, she let her eyes drift closed before reaching unsteadily into her heart. The weaker aeons, for all the less taxing their summonings would be, would not do. She needed—she needed something—

She gasped (not even deigning to notice the cherry heels that paused at the mouth of the drain before slowly moving on) as she felt a flaring of foreign energy within her soul. And yet, as unfamiliar as it was, it took but an instant for her to recognize it: within her heart, the soul of the Mother—the aeon of the east, Eden—turned to consider her.

Eden did not need to ask questions, form thoughts, and Lenne did not need to bother with an answer. It was all there before them both, all spread wide and meticulously unfolded in the chasms of their interlocked hearts. Would not this help Zanarkand? Lenne felt. Would the death of Bevelle not save the city, the collective being? Was that not—and for half an instant, Lenne thought she sensed a pang of disapproval, and it became much more difficult to breath—a summoner's duty, to protect her charge?

Not like this, Lenne thought, body trembling as her arms wrapped protectively about her stomach.

She had known death, Lenne was reminded without words, death and pain at the hands of Bevellian soldiers. What of her people? Was her thirst for justice not strong?

The evening lights burning her eyes as she opened them, Lenne glanced past the bars of the drain, listening to the idle, cheerful babble drifting about the streets. She thought of the stadium, all those months ago; how it swayed and and shattered and fell before her very eyes. She heard the shrieking, the pain, the death. She saw this street in the heart of Bevelle lurching and crumbling, disintegrating as whatever horrible power that beast could wield burst through. Would this city, would these—she winced, swallowed hard, turned her back to the light—would these _people_ sound any different?

What, Eden pondered, of her first guardian? Did vengeance for the death of one so dear not compel her?

I will not lose another, Lenne thought before she could stop herself. Her fingers curled painfully into her sides, her chest aching where her heart battered her bones. She could see him peering at her between soaked bangs, feel his cheek beneath her fingers as he slept. She heard the way he played for her, just for her, felt him before her around her and inside her and any moment he would smile like he always did and take hold of that ethereal trigger deep in the belly of Bevelle thinking only of—

She wasted yet more precious time keeping herself from being ill, and was met with only moderate success.

Quivering as she returned to herself, Lenne nervously wiped at the corner of her mouth, bracing herself for the aeon's reproach. Terror paralyzed her when it did not come, when she felt nothing at all. Eden had left her, she realized, her weak heart skipping as it beat her breastbone, and the aeons had abandoned her for this and please, no, without them she, she could never—!

Then the moment passed, and a warmth seemed to encircle her, quieting the pounding in her chest and soothing her convulsions. She sighed despite herself and choked back anything more, feeling Eden's presence with all the same strength. There was no reproach there. Instead, there rested something softer, more comfortable and forgiving—curiosity, Lenne realized, after a moment of feeling it herself. Whatever shall this world be like, she felt Eden wonder, if he were met with success? And what if she?

Lenne had little time to ponder the aeon's meaning before she felt that power guiding her away, through her own soul and past the spirits of the arrogant soldier, the navy-man, the shepherd. Look to all of your allies, she felt—and suddenly, the soul of the child was there, small and sweet and so familiar, soothing her as only a first aeon could. Their power (and my, how motherly Eden sounded now) will serve you well

Pausing for a bare few moments, Lenne answered the aeon with a nod of appreciation, a focusing of her mind, and a twirling of her hands.

Holding one hand before her, palm up and fingers spread wide, she set the other hand above it, where she would have placed the head of her staff. She gritted her teeth as a new wave of lightheadedness swept over her, struggling to maintain her balance and refusing, above all else, to disrupt the summoning. Slowly, she let her hand circle, a magician over her cap, eyes clamping shut as her skin grew warmer. She could see light through her closed lids, feel it in her palm—the hotter her skin grew, the more her head swam. She stumbled back, pressed against the filth-covered wall. Her stomach roiled, her head pounded, her knees began to buckle.

Then, she felt the light burst, so much heavier but so much more real. Gingerly, she opened her eyes to find a most familiar, blue rodent standing in her hand, barely balanced on a too-small platform of fingers and palm.

Even as Lenne struggled to breathe (unfortunate as it was to do here) and blink away her double-sight, she managed the smallest of smiles as Carbuncle turned to her, tilting that small head with its overlarge ruby crest. Letting her head drop in place of a nod, Lenne fought back the soupy lightheadedness clouding her mind—while she was only halfway successful, Carbuncle was nonetheless quick to respond. Hopping from Lenne's palm, the aeon scurried up the wall and slipped, most unsubtly, through the bars and into the crowd.

The Bevellians apparently didn't know what to think, at first. They paused in the street to gawked, a set of teenage girls nearest the aeon shuffling in displeased confusion. “What is that?” one muttered to the others as Carbuncle, vibrant blue and unsurprisingly docile, waddled toward them from the edge of the storm drain. “Is that—that's a kid, right? What a weird costume . . .”

Clearly, Lenne thought as she carefully curled her fingers, she would need to come on a bit stronger.

Not an instant after Carbuncle launched herself into the air and out of Lenne's sight, all three of the girls let out an ear-piercing shriek, and a shimmering force field surrounded them.

The effect was instantaneous. With an ear-rattling cacophony of shrieks that felt as if they would split Lenne's aching head in two, the street descended into chaos. As one of the unfortunate girls scrambled to escape and her comrades clung to each other in fright, the crowd scattered frantically, their soles pounding the stone and the inside of Lenne's head. Feverishly blinking it away, Lenne was just able to see Carbuncle touch down on the shoulder of a fleeing businessman, another mirror spell bursting into life around the both of them. As the man tripped to the brick and Carbuncle bounded from her fleshy perch into the sky, another mirror spell flashed into existence, then another. Within a moment, the place was glittering with them, harmless spells blazing through a crowd that knew no better and did not care to try.

After rediscovering that a deep breath down here did her more harm than good, Lenne steeled herself as best she could without, turned, and bolted for the personnel ladder. Hands clamped around rust and feet slipping on slimy rungs, she dragged herself up, head swimming, fingers scrambling, touched the circle of metal that led to the street.

What world shall you two make? Lenne felt, and threw the hatch open.

\---

The bayonet's blade clanged tinnily against the wall as Shuyin whirled and fired into the fog. Two shots disappeared into the nothingness, the fierce pang of lead on metal jolting through the mist and the quiet. When that was gone, there was only the echoing tenor of his breaths, the throb of his heart—neither of which he'd marked as his own a moment ago.

He was met with no return fire, no bullets or spells or Bevellian fists or hissed acidic threats; he felt his hands tighten on the gun, quivering with excitement. Nothing. No alarms, no guards tearing through the halls to stop him.

He felt a grin spread across his face. They didn't even know he was here. He could practically see those iron monstrosities, rolling ceaselessly down the Highbridge with nothing but the blood of the summoners on their cybernated minds. Bevelle's pride and joy, the mechanical force behind which they'd put their effort, their focus, their souls. Of course they wouldn't pay attention to some Zanarkan in their basement, caged and beaten and harmless.

He snapped back around and dove into the labyrinth, but only after another fearful pause—it took him a few moments to realize that the laughing that met his ears, glided to him off the mist and metal, was his own.

\---

Lenne wasn't entirely sure where the spell came from. She stood frozen, fingers poised and stretched toward the obscured orb—she had unmistakably felt the pull of magic in her mind, felt it slide from her fingers with a bullet's speed and precision. The intent had been a blip upon her conscience, nothing like what she knew she needed for even the weakest of spells. Yet there sat an ominous sphere of a camera, even blacker now against the pristine white walls, the fog of Blind lazily enfolding it.

However, she had little time to think on it. Throwing a glance over her shoulder through the glass doors and into the frantic crowd beyond, she searched for the door guard that had launched himself into the fray—Lenne's shoulder still ached where he had, quite authoritatively, rammed her aside. There was nothing to be seen of him, not yet, but there was no doubt in her mind that that would not last long.

Her heart throbbed, her jaw set and she silently flattened herself against the alcove wall, peeking around the corner. She bit her tongue—cameras. An endless row of them, a rank of the most menacing soldiers, eyes cold and trained unblinkingly on her.

She pressed herself back against the wall, smearing it with sludge from the blanket, and held her head, trying to think. More guards would be coming, and soon. She scrambled, clumsily yanking the map from her clothes and pulling it open with quivering hands. Yes, this was the only way in, the way that Shuyin had—had planned—to use. This was the only way she could go, but if she were seen, if she were caught . . .

Cautiously, she craned her neck around the corner again, counting the minuscule sentinels and wincing with every one. There was no running past that many, and even if she could destroy one, the next would spot her, and the next. She was simply too weak for anything more than the simplest spell; a Firaga would undo her, and even that would only eliminate a few. There was nothing, there was _nothing_ —!

Then, slowly, slightly, she turned her head, glancing at that single camera out of the corner of her eye. It sat blinded even now, and how easily, painlessly that magic had come. Minor and ineffective as red magic often was, as little as she had focused on it in all her years of training and practice, perhaps now it could be—

Those cameras were connected to a network, weren't they? They had to be, running together to a single deposit of information; in joining it, one camera merged with the rest, became one thing. Silently, she lifted her arms, swallowed her heart, and searched inside it for the knowledge she so needed. Blind. Blindaga. Was there such a thing?

She closed her eyes, concentrated, the darkness gathering in the tips of her fingers with surprising ease. This had to work. There was nothing else for her, and if it didn't, if she failed—

Oh, Shuyin. To be invisible like you.

Her fury was silent and her hand swift as it cut through the oppressive air. A new wave of blackness burst into being around the already Blinded camera, spilling out in a dry puff of air. Her heart held its next beat and she spun, turning wide eyes upon the hall.

She found the space choked with it, a quiet whoosh and pop giving way to a torrent of darkness that engulfed those mechanical eyes.

Lenne had little time to celebrate. Already, her feet were pounding the marble floor.

It felt so natural, she realized as she turned the corner and cast anew with a flick of her wrist. The tug of magic was there, little dizzying pricks, but they were subtle, gentle. Even as she cast, her legs moved, her mind whirred, her footsteps echoed against the walls without the awkward thump of stumbling to interrupt them. This was innate in her, it would seem. If she'd only known, perhaps, perhaps—her life had filled with _perhaps_ lately.

As her hand came away from yet another spell her eyes fell to the map, skimming the paper for her goal. If this was right, two more turns, two more spells and then—her feet skidded and danced around the corners, and the elevator seemed to jump out at her, thin black edges standing out like sunspots in the pale wall. So, too, did the lack of buttons: the simple, gray key-scanner may very well have been the most horrifying beast she had ever encountered.

Only just suppressing the gut-twisting rush that shook her muscles and pressed at the back of her eyes, she took one determined step back, flinging her hands forward, eyes narrowed in concentration. She needed strength, and whatever effect it would have was no matter. Drawing quivering arms upward, she felt nothing of herself, nothing but the Knight, galloping forward from the edge of her mind. She could not be stopped. Not now. She needed—!

The door pinged harshly in the quiet hall, and as a gasp escaped her lips, her arms came down.

She yelped in pain as Fire exploded in her mind and from the tips of her fingers. Boots slipping across the tile, she stumbled back, clamping her head between her hands and only just hearing a great thump on the other side of a lightheaded fog. After a desperately needed pause, she cautiously drew warm hands from her pounding forehead, looking to the now open elevator doors.

It took a moment for her to regain herself enough to notice the Bevellian guard splayed across the elevator floor, singed and gently smoldering. She paused again, blinked—then realization came at her, all at once, and hit her much harder than that spell ever could have. Throwing still tingling hands over her mouth to smother a gasp, she edged forward, nudging his temple with the toe of her boot. Nothing, even as she saw the slow rise and fall of his back. Maybe there had been a bit of Odin in that fire spell after all, or perhaps the guards in Bevelle's domestic employ were softer than she would have imagined . . .

It was only when she stepped into the compartment, pushing and tugging at his broad shoulders to try and force his limp frame out, that she heard it: a buzzing from his helmet, static.

“We have a breach in Sector C!” came a voice, crackling and bellowing from within the white noise. “Repeat, breach in Sector C! Intruder sighted in personnel elevator one! _Move, you idiots_!”

Her own breath freezing her lungs, Lenne spun on a heel, frantically scouring the walls. The search was short lived; she found it as easily as it had found her. On the ceiling to her left, fixing her trembling form with its own unblinking gaze, sat a single, triumphant black orb.

She screamed as she cast, the painted fog of a spell bursting against the walls and enveloping the horrid device. She stumbled back, pressed herself to the chill of the wall, felt it soak into her bones.

“Shit! We lost the feed!” barked the voice, hissed enraged static. “All personnel to sectors C and D! Intercept that elevator!”

Her knees dissolved beneath her. Weak fingers tugged at the wall. Slowly, Lenne lifted her head and, stomach knotting and mind watery, watched the doors slide closed.

\---

As he crashed to the metallic floor, frustration so immense that it seemed to fold in on itself and turn into nothing at all, he thought of her face.

Was she still beautiful, after all these days and years that he'd spent down here, alone but for the cracking of sparks and grinding of machine-bones and thoughts of her? She was probably so powerful now, he thought, palms pressed flat and fingers curling against the steel. He could see her, blurred in his equally vaporous mind but there, all the aeons of Zanarkand held within her heart, Zanarkand itself in its every beat far more than herself. He heard the creak of iron, the monstrous rattle of what could only be giant chains—ah, he was under that overblown gate latch, wasn't he? He could see her, flawlessly disciplined beauty, tearing Bevelle's unnatural and bloodthirsty beasts to scrap. One, two—but Bevelle would be too much to combat. There was no end to their brutality. They wouldn't stop at two, five, ten to a summoner. But there was something about the picture in his mind, something that transcended that bleakness, something he wanted to hold and know.

Would she find someone else, he wondered, blinking his eyes open and staring at a loosened screw in one of the metal plates. He wouldn't deny the way his heart wrenched at the thought, and yet. Would she find love, have children of her own? Raise them in a world where there were no blockades, where bombs and food shortages didn't tear her away from them? Would she be happy?

He pushed himself up, snatching the bayonet and using it for support. Slowly, he turned, glancing back the way he had come. The weeks of endless turning in the Gaol had shaken his sense of direction and made him forget the proper route. Not that it mattered. He stepped forward, through the entrance into the tinny chasm. Nothing would get in his way, now.

\---

Despite harshly worded orders that production carry on as normal while the immediate threat was neutralized, the corporal couldn't help but notice that the clamor of work behind his company had quieted considerably. Hmph—engineers. A simple internal disturbance, and the whirring of Bevelle's finest minds was so easily replaced with the whimpering of man-children. He could feel them now, twitching, hovering amongst their half-finished mechanisms and loose parts. It was no great shock that these people had been relegated to constructing the tools of Bevelle's future, instead of wielding them.

However, the corporal was nothing if not professional, and kept such truths carefully tucked away behind a neutral face. This way, at least, they could better hear the creaking descent of the elevator.

His company listened in prepared silence, bayonets long since drawn and at the ready, sites neatly and steadily set on the elevator doors. Silently, the corporal listened to the squealing of over-worked and under-greased pulleys, feeling the slightest bit disappointed. Intercepting this intruder had been so simple that it hadn't even been interesting. If only the fool were more clever—then again, such a person undoubtedly would have seen the flaw in encroaching upon the most heavily and competently guarded facility in all of Bevelle. At least, he reasoned, his guards had long since been permitted—ordered, in fact—to immediately fire on interlopers. That would make this a more engaging diversion.

The elevator touched down with a screech and a thunk, and the infinitely pleasing sound of a dozen fingers shifting onto their triggers followed in an instant. The corporal lifted his arm, synchronized with his gently upturned lips.

His contentment, however, was painfully short-lived. Where he had expected to find a sniveling nuisance to the state, his gaze fell instead upon a decidedly empty elevator cab.

His communicator was clamped in his fingers within the instant. “Company Two-Zero-Nine to control,” he snapped into the receiver, “what the fuck is going on here? There is nothing and nobody in personnel elevator one! What are you imbeciles doing up the—?”

A scrapping sound came from within the cab—something sharp drawn across the metal floor, the thump of a footstep—and the words froze on his tongue. Soft, tinny clinks met his ears as his company readjusted, and he held his arm out, barking for them to hold.

Something small and slight edged its way from behind the door, peeking out at the firing squad. The corporal's first thought was it that it was no more than a child, face and body obscured by a filth-stained sheet of burlap. He stared, eyebrow instinctively rising behind his visor. It shifted, cooing and garbling as it shook the cloth from its head; in the next instant, he was looking into the face of a faux-coeurl, at bright orange fur and enormous paws as it reared back onto its hind legs, shaking off its meager guise.

The creature tilted its head, bright, round lantern-eyes blinking at the squad before it. They, in turn, shared the sentiment; the corporal himself returned its stare unblinkingly, frozen, and with no small sense of bewilderment. “What in Saint's name?”

He heard the clumsy, bumbling adjustment of a rifle near the front—he identified the source in an instant; a private he was all-too familiar with by now, a maladroit of a kid that didn't know a safety from the ass end of a sahagin—the metal quivering with the flesh that balanced it as it was brought tightly to shoulder. Before he could intervene, the crack of a shot swept the production floor. In the same instant, the orange beast reeled backward, squealing in distress as the bullet lodged in its torso.

“I said hold!” the corporal bellowed. He could already hear the private fumbling his rifle out of position, trying and failing not to stammer. Idiots! How were they expecting him to run a half decent operation, if he didn't have—?

He was only able to catch a flash of color—slices of neon green light, claw marks dug right into the air by what appeared to be a living flame—before the private jerked up, gurgling and choking and falling on his face, his visor glancing off the mesh. The next soldier had it in him to scream as he went down, brought low by a burst of magic and a preposterous battle-squeak.

“Fire!” the corporal barked, swinging his arm with decidedly less composure than before. “ _Fire!_ ”

His company hadn't bothered to wait on the order. Two to the right yelled as they fired, the beast taking half an instant to squeal in pain before returning to its assault. Rifles fired madly, bullets pinging off the metallic walls, soldiers gasping and howling and falling in equal measure under the beast's claws. The engineers suddenly weren't so adept at keeping silent. Their shrill cries filled the production floor as they scrambled away from the onslaught, diving behind their half-finished mechanisms for shelter.

The corporal snatched clumsily for his bayonet, leveling the rifle at the creature's head through the jostling bodies of his company. His shot was lucky, blasting between nearly-misplaced men and smashing into the creature's nose. Marksmanship like that was worth at least a medal of valor, regulation be damned.

But the monster did not fall, merely shook itself like a dog dislodging a flee before diving back, no worse for wear, into the fray. His bayonet sank half an inch—half an inch he would later fervently deny—as he stared at his target, his jaw working to match. This was no ordinary beast. This, this was a creation of magic, of—

He retreated back, lifting and repositioning his rifle as shaking fingers dove for his communicator. He was lifting it to his face, finger on the button to issue the raised threat level through the network and call for back-up when he heard a frantic voice barking at him through the static.

“—We have a man down! Repeat, man down in sector C! His uniform is gone! Intruder has infiltrated the ranks! Repeat, the intruder has infiltra—!”

Then, without the slightest electronic whimper of protest, the communicator cut out. The corporal paused for a moment, unable to process it. He shook the thing once, again, took his eyes off the still rampaging beast for half an instant to glance at the useless piece of junk. He could see the light to signal full battery burning bright in the corner, could feel its vibrations through his gloved fingers. And yet there was no sound, not the slightest peep of white noise to be heard underneath the shriek of cowardly machina architects and falling soldiers.

The plastic shook in his fingers, squealed in protest as they clenched around its casing. What—what in the name of the Saints was this? What was—what was _happening_ here?

In the confusion, he failed to notice a single guard emerging from a side stairwell, stepping awkwardly in an overlarge uniform, and vanishing into the crowd of machines.

\---

Lenne could feel the camera's gaze on the back of her head, blackened lens peering at the helmet awkwardly balanced there, and it took all of the self-control she had not to blind it on the spot. She stood in purse-lipped silence as the elevator's mesh doors shut behind her, the carriage creaking away from the frenzy and metal monstrosities at her back. She clamped her eyes shut and breathed deeply, focusing her attention on wishing Moomba luck to distract from her shivering and faintness. She had to stay calm. She'd only barely been able to evade capture. If she cast now, they would recognize her position in an instant—she, she had to stay calm.

She straightened her back, placing her hands behind her and stretching the remnants of a Silence spell out of her fingers. That, at least, should have blocked their communications for the time being. She tried to appear natural and comfortable in this overlarge outfit, the trousers that hung awkwardly on her hips and boots that did not match the rest of the uniform.

The elevator banged to a graceless halt at the base of the shaft; the knowledge that Moomba had not yet returned to her and was thus still making a proper nuisance of himself serving as her only comfort, she took a deep breath and, slowly letting it out, stepped from the elevator.

She did her very best not to appear taken aback at what she found there. Several hundreds of feet below ground, below the civilian bustle of lights and life and cityscape stood its miniature, warped twin. Dark towers stretched to a point, pulsing with white light atop platforms glowing neon red and blue. Her footsteps echoed as she moved forward onto hastily welded steel, chains clanging and metal sighing with movement in the background. She tried to think as she walked, recall what the map had told her about this place—the figures came to her, but nothing more.

She clenched her fingers, worked to keep her heartbeat in check, blinked as steam rose from beneath the bridge that led to the structure. She could feel the map tucked away in her clothes, wanted desperately to grab for it—she stilled herself, looking about behind her visor. This place was too dark, too open. Who knew what eyes were watching, here.

Her caution was wiser than she had guessed or hoped. Stepping from the bridge onto an ornate, glowing sigil, she found herself on the rim of a gargantuan metal ring, the towers set on perfect intervals around its circumference and neon light shining from its hollow center. Within the moment, shouting met her ears—sharp, quick snippets of voice, the sort she'd grown to know well around Zanarkand's soldiers. She turned, squinting through the dark of the visor. It was only by two human-sized blue lights, glowing bright and steadier than the pulsing symbols across the floor, that she saw the guards: four of them, to the far right of her on the circle, yipping indistinctly at each other (and even then, Lenne swore she could hear aggravation in their barks). One ascended the steps before the nearest tower, snapping over his shoulder at his gathered compatriots, and pressed a hand to the sigil there.

She heard a shift, felt a thud, and looked toward the center of the ring. Only then did she notice the platforms—plates of thick metal, featureless masses of grey that well-matched their surroundings—as one shifted about the inside of the circle, moving steadily along a track before grinding to a heavy halt.

So, too, did she notice the opening. A wide rectangle, far below the ring's surface—her eyes widened behind the dark visor lens, her breath catching. That, she immediately reasoned, was most certainly the way down; three of the platforms led to it, set in perfect alignment. Had she been able to look at the map this very moment, she had no doubt that it would tell her the same. That was the pathway further into the labyrinth, toward the beast, toward—

The bang of work boots on the metal flooring met her ears, and she turned to find the irritated guardsmen backing from their current tower and heading for the next. She looked from their backs to the platforms, to them again, back.

The anxiety she had been battling a moment before surged back unfought, wrapping around her heart and filling her throat. They were breaking up the path, making it impossible to tread, and if they managed to finish she would never be able to recreate it. She would be trapped here, unable to go deeper, to reach him, to stop him!

She did not stop to think. “H-halt!” she barked once, immediately squashing the stammer into pure authoritativeness as she marched toward them. “ _Halt!_ ”

The guards did as they were bade, turning toward her slowly and with no excess of patience in their visor-darkened gazes. No time to rethink.

“What are you doing?” she said sharply, standing as tall as she could make herself and pointing behind her, toward the elevator. “The men up there need backup!” Then, setting aside the awkward feel of military jargon on her tongue, she added for good measure, “Why haven't you responded to the SOS?”

Terror surged beneath her burst of adrenaline as, for a moment, she feared she'd been caught. The four of them eyed her, sneers evident as they turned toward her fully. She kept her position, straightening her back and folding her arms in front of her, trying to meet their looks with an adequately pointed one of her own.

After a moment that took infinitely too long to elapse, one of the guards huffed, nonetheless irritable but seemingly not suspicious. “What'aya think we're tryin' to do?” he responded thickly, jerking a thumb at the tower behind them. “Gotta seal the gate 'fore we respond to anythin'.”

Lenne made a point to sigh in as exasperated a fashion as she could manage. “I will take care of this,” she snipped, jerking her head toward the elevator this time. “You four get up there where you're needed. Go!”

Dread—less potent than her previous terror, but still nonetheless present—settled upon her shoulders as the guards glared at her; she broke the tension by marching smartly past them to the next tower, forcing her knees not to liquefy beneath her. “Go!” she barked again as she went, passing by the tall, thin lights. As she came to the top of the steps (pace slowing once she was out of the guards' potential sight, dawdling as she faked a move toward the sigil), she glanced to the side, and let out a sigh of relief. Already the guards were crossing the minuscule gallery, and in a few broad steps they had disappeared into the elevator with the door shutting, by all accounts, silently behind them.

After expending every effort to keep herself from collapsing in relief against the trigger-symbol, Lenne turned on a heel and sprinted for the first platform.

\---

The voice recognition mechanism cracked beneath the bayonet with a satisfying _chink_ , and Shuyin smiled.

Red flecks of glass dripped from beneath the bayonet. He pulled the blade away, and a shimmering cascade of them followed, falling soundlessly to the path as he stepped away and turned.

The bayonet was much louder as it went; it clanged indignantly as it slipped from his hands and bounced against the steel path. A moment later, with a screech of rubbing metal, it slipped off the platform's edge and tumbled into the pit, and he could not find the will to be upset of it. He wouldn't need it. Not anymore.

He walked on, past the wispy column of smoke that rose from the abyss, marking the landing place of the chamber's security machina. Yes, that salvaged lightning gem had very handy for taking it down. Now, he stepped silently, reverently toward the only machina that mattered. His boots, padding softly against the metal, came to rest upon the disk at the path's end. Suddenly, he could hear a breathing beside his own, something he couldn't place yet could still sense. A shifting, too, of metal disks and plates pushing and pulling, like the creaking of joints and the rub of flesh upon itself.

Shuyin's eyes widened, gooseflesh running up his arms and neck as he forced himself not to step back. Vegnagun was alive—more alive than every bit of metal that guarded it, than the bloodless corpses rotting in the blackness beneath the Gaol. More than the machina of death hundreds of feet above and more than the monsters that filled those glittering streets, that would live on the death of the summoners and Zanarkand.

Alive. Alive as he was. Alive as she, as Le—

He drifted forward, toward it, and it awaited him. Only the living would know what to do with a city of death.

He found purchase easily, slight hand-holds presenting themselves along the ridges of Vegnagun's tusks. He moved carefully, avoiding a plunge into the abyss. Along the way he paused, gulping back a breath of amazement; he could feel Vegnagun shifting like a timid animal beneath his palms, waiting for the slightest scent of fear or anger on his skin, in his heart. Shuyin, in turn, carefully steeled himself, overriding his own instincts as he continued to climb. Vegnagun was not to be feared, and neither—he assured, placing the sentiment foremost in his mind, where it could be clearly seen and felt—was he.

That seemed to be enough. Vegnagun held, blue light glowing gently from beneath Shuyin's feet as he touched down on the control platform. He stood straight, looked forward, slowed a breath as it raced for his lungs—there, sitting patient and calculatedly silent (almost expectant, he thought, needle-pricks creeping along his spine) sat the instrument of Bevelle's end. An organ, _< i>the</i>_ organ whose image had graced Shuyin's walls and counters and mind for as long as he could remember. Long, bony keys seemed to hover in the shadow-fog, twisted into a wide, grey smirk (or, perhaps, a smile of welcome). Blackened half-spheres rose from the casing as if from a pit of tar, lit softly by the runes that glowed and wavered in the chamber walls.

None of those, however, held Shuyin's focus. His eyes fixed on the keys, and his mind felt the barely detectable purr in the metal and glass.

He fidgeted as he approached, the almost invisible stool brushing against weakening knees as he made to sit. He'd known from the beginning that the instrument now gathering dust in Zanarkand had been a meager likeness to the behemoth he'd found in his research. Standing before it now, however, with the beast at his fingertips, made that fact infinitely more apparent: the keys seemed too huge to press, the notes too old in his mind, the heart of the machine too skittish. Carefully, he brushed a quivering hand over the keys; they were warm to the touch, tingling against the pads of his fingers. Waiting. Warning.

Slowly, Shuyin sat, doing his best to hold himself straight and steady. He squared his shoulders, breathed deeply—Vegnagun seemed to do the same, vibrations of curiosity and growing excitement humming across his soles. Spreading his fingers across the board, Shuyin slowly closed his eyes—the notes played out against his darkened lids, and not alone. He saw the harsh edges of a vast arsenal. Empty eyes in insignia-carved helmets. A flash of cobalt, auburn, and rain.

Then, his hands surged forward, flesh melding with Vegnagun's metal, and he began to play.

\---

The humming of the machines died to nothing. The map ceased to crinkle. The pounding of her heart went quiet. Lenne stood frozen and, for half an instant, was met with only silence.

Then, the sound came again—a sharp trill, faint and high notes screaming through the air around her—and she nearly choked on reality as it rushed in to meet her gasp.

Her mind could scarcely process how something so familiar was to be found in such a horrible place, but there was no mistaking it: a piano. The music she trained on, danced to beneath computer-generated symphonies—closed her eyes and swayed to in a softly lit apartment, with a man who could always make her smile.

The railed, hover-shaped lift shook to a halt at a catwalk barely above an abyss of mist and grey, and the music reached through it to meet her. In that instant, she knew. She didn't, couldn't understand, but she knew.

Lenne hit the platform running, Shuyin's name jettisoned into the fog.

\---

The corporal was only slightly unsuccessful in keeping the shakes from his voice and, like smart soldiers, his company made no mention of it. That was good for the lot of them—the first breath of this that he heard in the mess hall would be met with instant latrine duty.

The creature had be subdued much more thoroughly and spectacularly than they had planned, bursting into flitting balls of light and leaving behind no trace of a body; that only left their own casualties to account for, discovering the breech in their defenses, securing the perimeter, detecting additional agents—

He was just shouting new instructions, harsh and loud to cover any lasting quavers, at the still-standing recruits (five men were being lifted by limp shoulders and legs, hauled into the lift while blood poured from their shoulders and bellies and Saints knew where else) when the slightest of electronic blips sounded from beside his hip.

“Company Two-Zero-Nine, do you copy?” the corporal heard, faintly at first—an instant later, it came again as an ear-ringing bellow. “Company Two-Zero-Nine, _respond, you fucking idiots!_ ”

The communicator squealed with the effort of transmitting such vitriol; the corporal winced at both before growling and snatching up the device. “Company Two-Zero-Nine to control, you better watch your mouth! I've got five soldiers down and the bunch of you better have a _damn_ good excuse for your equipment cutting out in the middle of—!”

“Corporal!” the voice on the other end shouted, cutting him off without a single ounce of superiority or rebellious glee, only panic. “We have an unidentified agent wearing the uniform! She walked right past you morons and exited the third-subterranean-level lift ten minutes ago! Surveillance is non-responsive from the prisoner containment sector onward. Repeat! _Unidentified agent headed for the restricted zone!_ For the love of the Saints, get your men down there, _now_!”

\---

It came so easily.

The notes drifted about him, through him, echoing as much within the hollows of his body as they did against the chamber walls. He ducked his head. The runes popped, vanished, threw everything around the two of them into darkness. He could feel Vegnagun shaking, it's mouth opening wide as the weapon held deep inside began to emerge. The music, too, poured from within him, spread across the keys like his own blood as his hands plucked at them.

It was coming. He could see the blast ripping through Bevelle, banishing the city's evil from the world as it tore apart the streets and the death-leechers that walked them. He could see himself and Vegnagun, rising as one from the rubble and flying to the gates of Zanarkand to tear apart the machine-army that marched on it. He could also see the earth and concrete crushing him to nothing.

He smiled as he played, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. But she would live.

He looked up at the lights before him, and bade it all to come.

\---

The visor darkened her path, making it impossible for her to see properly. Lenne flung the helmet it rested in into the nothingness at the path's edge, and did not look back.

The trousers, tripping her up with every step, were the next to go. She kicked them awkwardly from her feet, forcing them over her boots with a scream of frustration. She left them crumpled in the path, and the music slowed to a calando. She pulled the jacket, catching the wind and fog and slowing her down—she couldn't, no, not even a little, or she'd never—over her head and let it fall where it would.

 

A clang of hideous, roaring metal broke through the song, shifting angrily. Her lungs and throat burned, legs went soft, head spun with the effort of keeping her upright. Dread threatened to collapse her heart. Her body, however, had none of the energy to answer to either of them. It could only keep going, forcing her forward as she skidded around a corner, momentum throwing her through one final doorway.

On the other side, she found herself gazing into the face of death.

Eyes wide and hollow as a skull's, they radiated a steely blue as they stared at her, through her, into her. Where its mouth should have been, she found a circle of light, glowing brilliantly and stretching toward her. Her muscles threatened to seize entirely—this was the barrel of a cannon pointed at Bevelle, at the world. At all of them.

She forced her eyes up, above the head and the blinding light, and found him. A swatch of blond, bobbing against twinkling lights, playing that music for her.

Lenne, in return, threw her arms wide, and screamed.

\---

“ _You must stop!_ ”

Shuyin's body reacted instantly. His fingers jerked and stumbled upon the keys, the ballad staggering into silence as his head pivoted on his shoulders. Ears guided, eyes locked onto that expanse of blue movement under the glow of Vegnagun's barrel. Irises focused, synapses fired.

His mind, however, was left utterly numb.

“That's enough,” she implored, taking a shaky step forward. The darkness of the chamber swirled in stark shadows, spread over her where the light from Vegnagun's barrel didn't turn her skin harsh and pale. Her feet spread, legs locked, expression certain and unflinching. She stood in the weapon's path, arms spread wide to hold it—him—something back, deep within the blackened heart of Bevelle.

He stood, pressed his hands to Vegnagun's skull, and stared.

Lenne.

 _Lenne_.

It took but an instant more for his brain to burst into frenzy. N— _No!_ She couldn't possibly—it was a hallucina—an illusi—she couldn't be. She could not _be here_!

Vegnagun's fervor faded from his blood, the hot swirl of victory and destiny sapped by the chill of comprehension and terror. With every moment the cold pervaded him her lines grew starker, edges more defined. She held her hands out in supplication, and he searched desperately for the ghost, the trick.

She gazed up at him, breath heavy, face twisted and lips wordlessly slack, and would not fade.

Lenne. She, she was—

Then all at once she whirled about, her gasp echoing over Vegnagun's flesh to reach Shuyin's perch. He lifted his eyes, and his innards seemed to disintegrate: soldiers, guards, boots crashing and armor clanging and bayonet's bouncing in their arms. Coming through the chamber entrance. Headed for Lenne.

No floor came up to meet him. Colors did not swirl, forms did not fade, he didn't come to in his bed. Not again. Not this time.

The soles of his feet sailed over Vegnagun's tusks, skittering heedlessly across the once-friendly ridges that now threatened to trip him with every flinch of muscle. He slipped, nearly fell, jerked himself back up. He hadn't the mind to care—the hammering of his heart, the pumping of his knees, the figure of, of _Lenne_ as she stumbled back into the darkness, away from the slaughterers were all he could feel now.

He stumbled as he reached the platform, a yelp ripped from his throat as his feet came up from under him. Sore fingers pulsed their heat into the soldering as they met. The pounding of the guards' footfalls echoed through the metal, shook into the palms of his hands; he pushed off of them and, weeks and months and eternities of injury and fatigue bearing down on him, rushed for the center of the platform.

Lenne met him halfway. She curled tight and he spread wide, folding her into his arms as she pressed against his chest. His face found her hair, lips brushing the strands as the two of them swayed, staggering together. She leaned heavily on him, pressing her head to his neck. Her lungs worked, her fingers clutched, her body collapsed into his hands.

His grip tightened, and his heart twisted.

She was warm. She was real.

Overhead lights burst into life with a crash, surrounding them with relentless white. His eyes watered as it reflected off the fog, leaving him blind. He clutched Lenne's arms, swiftly blinking away the blur of tears and peering through the fog. His gut twisted. From the darkness emerged flashes of red uniform, thin lines of blue glaring back at them from military visors, the gleam of light off of too many bayonets. Clicking, shifting as they were readied, raised, aimed.

His eyes clamped shut, teeth gritting behind his lips as he ducked his head, curling tight, so close that he nearly moved to lean his forehead against hers. He could smell the sweat and exhaustion on her, could feel the way she swayed dizzily in his arms and he held her, warm wherever she touched.

She was here. He opened his eyes, glimpse her own where they sat locked on his shoulder. Here with him, at the bayonet's end of a firing squad.

He raised his head, eyes narrowing to furious slits as the last soldier—last _executioner—_ readied his weapon. Shuyin's magic was depleted. He had no sword. He was weak, and even if he hadn't been, a blind charge would be as useless as it was suicidal. But Lenne—could she cast? Summon? Could she—

Then he felt, again, how limp she was in his arms, how she faltered in his embrace. The journey, the path this deep into Bevelle, however she had managed it, was too much.

She didn't have it in her, he thought with a final, crashing sense of realization. Neither of them did.

Blue eyes found hazel for a bare instant, her hands spreading across his ribs, his fingers curling around her arms. Her brows slanted and gaze fell, drawing anxiously back and forth across his chest. Searching, he realized, for a soothing word, something to give him comfort in these last—their last—moments. Exactly as she had always been. Never her tears, her pain, her sadness.

The firing squad sat in silence, wrapping them in the grip of the crosshatches, and he held her tighter. Nothing she could say would fix this. That she was here, here and about to—because of him! She lifted her eyes and smiled that familiar, loving smile, and even that, that could never—

He nearly missed the tear that fell from her cheek.

And, all at once, the chamber burst into sound, and the world was torn apart.

\---

The first thing Lenne felt was the pressure. It grabbed her by the side and yanked, whipping her around (tearing him from her hands), and effortlessly flinging her backward. Her head snapped back, her legs gave out—for a feverish, dreamlike moment, she wondered if she had legs at all—and as tears flitted from her eyes, she felt every instant of her fall.

It passed. Pain shot through her head as it bounced against the floor, cracking to the vicious ping of metal in her ear. Her face fell to the side, touched the cold of the steel. Silence.

An unbearable fire tore through her side, smoldering in her flesh and baking her bones. She tried to cry, tried to move—it took to her lungs, pulsed hot with the pounding in her ears, and she could do neither. There was a tingling in her legs and nothing else, a sticky warmth dripping from her side and roasting her cold skin. She couldn't breath, couldn't speak, could barely see through flashes of senseless white and encroaching blackness.

Something in front of her inched forward. She focused through the swirls of blurriness and dark, found the tips of fingers, a blonde swath of color growing clear for a long, slow moment. Blue eyes. Agonized eyes. A hand shaking, reaching for her with the last of its strength.

Her eyes widened, gentle and sad warmth spilling across her cheek. Shuyin. 

The world fell away. Darkness ate at the corners of her vision, consuming him. That hand became a blur of peach, bleeding into the gray and the dark. Her heart burned. The pounding in her ears diminished to a weak thrum.

Lenne stared into the near-nothing, and felt the hands of a mother grace her slowing heart. Studying curiously, sadly, the fading of her soul. This, she felt, and did not need to hear the words, is the world you have made.

Then that presence vanished—all of them, all at once, fading that much quicker than she. Those fingers, in a shifting blur of color (she felt them holding her hand, touching her face) went limp.

The last of her tears slid down a cold cheek, and high overhead, the streets of Bevelle echoed with the footfalls of war.


	19. Chapter 19

Life flashed through Shuyin's form, and he shrieked with the agony of it.

Light burst inside his eyelids, pops and flares so bright it was as if he'd never seen before. Something exploded in his bones, ripping his nerves and muscles with fiery fingers, his own screaming tearing at his ears. His frame shook, spasmed, wracked with agony—and for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, he could feel the edges of himself.

Then, it was over. The pain vanished just as quickly as it had come, leaving a dull, throbbing burn behind. Slowly, upon remembering how, Shuyin let his eyes flit open; he found only a blur of gray before him, and wondered if he'd gone blind (what blind was, what he was, where he was). He blinked slowly, stretched fingers and toes he knew were there from their aching. He felt a thick, angry rumble overhead, and his mind immediately went to oceans, beaches, rain . . .

Then, as his vision began to clear, he found a gently smoldering rock at the end of his nose.

Quietly, sleepily, he considered it, closing his eyes against the steam that tickled them. Overhead, the rumbling came again, a screeching crash and another, softer flash of light. A listless moment of realization, and he knew what it was: thunder, lightning.

He laid still, spreading his arms and waiting for rain to cool his burning back. It was only after several minutes without a drop that he carefully lifted himself and, hissing at his stiffness and searing skin, looked around.

Thunderclouds. A roiling, dark blanket of them, so thick and full that they were all he could see of the sky. The land beneath—he blinked again, squinting to guarantee he had chased away the veneer of dizzy illusions—appeared different only in its solidity. A jagged expanse of rock spread as far as he could see, too dry to suggest it'd ever met the billow of gloom overhead. As he gazed up, those clouds showed their teeth: jagged, flashing teeth, lightning blasting through their underbellies and making them glow white. Thunder crashed high above, and as his body flinched, his mind slowly began to work. Haltingly, he got to his feet, holding his head as the altitude made it swirl. Where was he? How had— _what_ had—?

It flashed across his mind harsher and faster than any streak of lightning, metal and light and Lenne's dead face. He lurched back, his mind bursting into a frenzy. Questions, thoughts and feelings without words shot through his mind like technicolor, blending as he whirled on the spot and nearly lost his balance all over again. He saw the gun, the blue strip of eye past a rifle site. Alive. How was he alive?

But more importantly—

“Lenne!” he screamed into the expanse of rocky nothingness, trying desperately to see. “ _Lenne_!”

He'd just taken a step, the craggy sound of rocks scrapping beneath his feet, when the felt static jump across his skin. His legs launched him back—light exploded where he'd been standing, shooting shards of rock into his face and jolts up his spine. Only barely holding himself upright, he stared at the smoldering flat of rock, hardly heard the thunder. Suddenly, the particulars of his waking were much clearer.

Another strike, much further away, but still too close for comfort. Only when its after-image had faded did he spy a soft glow in the distance, too dim to be lightning yet bright against the cloud-blackened scenery. Light. Shelter.

As the thunder cracked, he took off at a sprint, and could only hope that she had made it there already.

\---

He tread cautiously through the heart of a cavern, carved into a wall of stone that marked the rock field's edge. The path curled into a small, low-roofed opening, swathed in dim shadow and covered with roots. He could see the beginnings of a bigger, brighter chamber to his left, letting in flecks of what looked like dusk-light. There was what appeared to be a reflecting pool pressed against the wall, rimmed with cracked bricks that, from the looks of it, had once been ornate. A half-built sign stood beside it, facing away from him, down an almost identical tunnel.

And there were people. People.

One by one, those closest to the entrance glanced his way, returning his stare. They were draped in earthy greens and browns, a forest-colored shawl drawn across the shoulders of what, he assumed, was an elderly woman. Lighter greens, shiny and smooth (were those leaves?) covered rough-fibered cloaks and tunics running unbroken from neck to toe—for half a second, he thought they were all simply an extension of the rooted floor. Spikes of hair on every one of them stuck out sharply, crookedly, at odd angles, like the branches of a tree.

Cautiously, one of them—the face told him it was a woman, but the body quickly corrected him—stepped forward, ducking his head in curiosity. A step closer, however, and Shuyin saw the man flinch, eyes going wide and spine snapping straighter. Shuyin stepped back, ready to bolt in an instant, but the man moved no closer. He turned to what Shuyin was certain this time was an old woman, and shared a glance with her before turning back. “You are traveler?”

It wasn't long before he found himself in a small underground room, lit by firelight, and in the presence of one of the strangest looking women that he had ever see. Her hair was a blueish-green, pulled back much more neatly than he would have thought possible and wrapped with a clear-blue scarf. A shawl of intricately patterned green and gold covered thin shoulders and her hands were adorned with a barely tacky assortment of gems and metals. “Travelers,” she explained when she caught him staring, smiling as she poured them drinks from a scuffed silver pot, “will trade many things when provisions run low.”

He took the cup she offered him with somewhat clumsy fingers. She, gracefully, took a seat across from him on a finely stained wooden stump. “Travelers do not often venture through the Thunder Plains to reach this place,” she said, her accent thick and unfamiliar with the shape of the words that pushed off of her tongue. “From where do you come?”

“Zanarkand,” he answered, voice distant as his fingers drifted over the clay of the cup, the grooves and chipped edges.

Silence met him. His eyes drifted toward the woman, caught her recovering from his answer—her eyes returned to their previous size, a fake smile carefully arranged itself across her mouth, head dipping low in an exaggerated nod. “Pardon me,” she said, taking a drink of her own concoction (her eyes, he noticed with a healthy level of discomfort, never leaving him). “You were there,” she paused, searching for the proper word, and her smile was well on its way to unnerving him, “recently?”

Shuyin paused himself, then nodded slowly. “A month ago,” he managed.

“Is it as lovely as they sai—say?”

Shuyin stared, brows furrowing and drink forgotten. She sat moment longer, crossing and uncrossing her legs, tapping her foot against the stump, glancing at the plants and trinkets that occupied her shelves. Then, she set her cup down and stood, brushing off her plain, earthen dress. “You have been through much,” she said, plastering on a wide grin and gesturing to a small, roughened set of beds against the opposite wall. “It would wise for you to rest, would it not?”

With that, she turned and skittered across the room (and it was the fastest Shuyin had ever seen, taking her from the confines of her chair to the entry steps before he could turn his head far enough to catch her), and was already setting her foot atop the second stair when Shuyin stumbled to his feet and threw his hand out. “Wait!”

She drifted to a halt, shift billowing about her ankles, and glanced over her shoulder with a tight grin. “A, a woman,” Shuyin managed. “Did a woman come here? From Zanarkand?”

For a moment, the woman paused, turning toward him fully. Her face softened as she moved, hands folding together against the front of her skirt. The pity in her eyes was infinitely more genuine than her smile had been. “We have not had any travelers from Zanarkand in a long time.”

She vanished up the stairs with a quiet, swishing step. Shuyin, staring into the emptiness and drifting firelight, was left quietly, harshly, painfully alone.

\---

He saw her that night, in his nightmares.

Her face was painted red as she lay before him, bleeding like a slab of meat on the cold metal. He saw himself playing, Vegnagun awakening at his plea. The images were fuzzy, scattered, meeting him from behind a soupy fog. He thrashed as they repeated before his eyes, seeing—no, _feeling_ , feeling every blast of cold and pain and horror, a quivering and a shimmering in his skin, in his bones.

Then, he saw her staring down at him. Blurry, but clean of blood, leaning close. Alive. Slowly, he reached out to touch her hair, her cheek, to feel warmth beneath her skin that had not drained onto the chamber floor. She stepped back, away from his hand—his fingers faltered, brow slanted. Lenne?

After a moment, however, she seemed to gather herself, moving forward and gripping his fingers. He looked at her, tried to blink as he made out her watery smile, feeling the way her hand sweat and shook. _Lenne?_

“Poor lost soul, may you go in peace,” she said, in a voice not her own.

He jerked back, yanking his hand free and struggling away from her. He'd barely noticed the thin swath of orange-gold behind her head before it came down, arching wide, and split him open.

It didn't touch him. It never moved from her, swirling about that dark frame in a wide, graceful arch, but he felt it. Instantly his body contorted, a garbled, deadened cry of agony trickling over his lips. It tore him apart, gently yanking in a thousand directions. He felt his skin quiver and shimmer, heard the cooing of the sea behind his eyes. Holding his pieces together set him alight, angry jolts of pain firing and burning him from his edges as he writhed and wouldn't—wouldn't it feel better to just let go?

With a choked cry he launched himself back, tumbling and cracking his head against hard-packed earth. Flashes of light burst like vessels behind his eyelids—he yanked his legs from rough-hewn blankets, flinging himself across the floor. He scrambled, pressed against the wall and stumbled to his feet with its aid. Sucking in lungfuls of dust, he stared, looking wide-eyed through a blurring scope of sleep and adrenaline, and found a woman who was decidedly not Lenne.

Her face, he noticed almost instantly, looked like that of a child, large eyes narrowed over cheeks that might have once have been full. They were sunken now, short black hair hanging in her eyes, sun-slapped skin covered in smears of dirt and copious scrapes.

He gripped the dry, scaly vines that grew down the wall, and she bit her lip, twitching as she shifted her weight. Her hand twisted and gripped tight, drawing his eyes to what she held there. A thick rod of worn wood, a totem of frozen fire at its tip. Bangles, patterns, bits of religion he barely understood. In her thin fingers—impossible, unthinkable, but real—rested a summoner's staff.

“Please, sir spirit,” she said, voice quivering as it jerked his eyes back up to her own. She shook with her words, hands wringing the rod in some desperate prayer for steadiness. Something in her buried that fear, tightened her fingers, made her step forward, made the words come. “The Guado may not yet know the path of Yevon, but even they sense the death that lies beneath your masquerade!”

She flung her hand toward him open-palmed, fingers quivering in their firm configuration as she stared through him. He stared back. Said nothing. Could not think beyond animal instinct, now.

“Please,” she implored (his head swam; a summoner, a murderer, a hunter, a child—), lifting her staff high as she advanced. It tipped back and forth before his eyes, a vane of judgment. “Let me be your liberator.”

With a deft turn of the wrist she brought that fire down. A scream tore his throat, sharp and jagged and ripping his windpipe raw. The staff spun in her fingers as she drew the pieces of him apart, tenderly plucking and chopping their sinews. They drifted as she cut them away, carnival balloons that took the feeling and pain with them. A glimmer fluttered before his eyes, a rainbow of dust and light, trailing and dancing.

Curled, clutching half-fists swung through it.

She shrieked as his fingers slammed into her staff, battering it backwards and knocking it from herhands. He caught a look at her eyes, wide and quavering in her small face. Nail and knuckle found her cheek.

She hit the floor with an echo of a scream, staff skittering across the floor with a few sad, hollow clicks. His parts rushed together like iron dust to a magnet, anchored with tendons of adrenaline that shook feeling back into his limbs. Lungs aching as he sucked in rattling breaths, he stared where she lay prone across the inn floor—all at once she was dressed in white, long hair flowing over a lowered hood. Splayed across a metal slab. Bleeding.

He staggered back and launched forward in nearly the same motion, ripping roots from the walls and tripping over rickety wicker beds. He didn't wait to see her rise, if she could—he collided with the opposite wall, pitched himself toward the stairs, toppling the innkeeper in the shadows of the entryway. He tripped over her as he ran, cracking his knees against the earthen steps and feeling metal, feeling cold, feeling the pounding of a thousand footsteps.

Outside was near blackness, small lanterns flickering meagerly in the swath of night—if there was a soul awake to see him stumble from the stairwell, he couldn't tell. Barreling frantically into the darkness, his nose found dirt and stone, and even as he yelped in pain and held it he thrust his other hand out, feeling along the wall. The sound of thunder echoed back to him, louder and louder with each blundering step. Screeches came from behind, the innkeeper calling into the vast empty space, faint and easily swallowed by a thunderclap.

The stone ended, tripping him as he barreled blindly forward into dry, static-filled air. Lightning burst into life over his head, throwing the rocky storm field into harsh relief. Somewhere in the distance a rock shattered, and the landscape again became a featureless slate.

Shuyin, shouts at his back and blasts at his front, sprinted into the gray.

He didn't stop until the storm grew quiet, the rocks ceased to be. Until there was nothing but his own labored breaths, frozen and drifting before his eyes. He folded, bruised hands gripping his knees to hold him upright. Frozen earth had replaced the rocks beneath his feet, flecks and pebbles holding his gaze, his lungs aching with the onslaught of chilly air. It was only when his breathing mellowed and knees began to wobble that he slowly, haltingly lifted his eyes.

For a moment, he thought that his sight had been damaged, the wrong colors appearing in the wrong places. Overhead, great tree branches stretched at odd, lazy angles, blue as ice shards. Where fruits would have been were bright, jeweled glows, shimmering through the icy air. Stillness. Quiet.

Eyes locked overhead, he carefully stumbled forward, resting against one of the trees. It sent a chill through his palm and over his shoulders, making him shiver as he pulled back. The tree didn't so much as quiver with his movements, nothing skittered across the forest floor. Frozen earth crunched beneath his foot, and he was alone.

An image in red tore through his mind. He jerked back from nothing, swinging his gaze from side to side. _Your liberator_. He saw the innkeeper's hollow smile, felt the echo of her desperate and far-away shouts— _Unsent_ , he heard, from that incomprehensible mire. _Stop the Unsent._

The frozen air burned Shuyin's throat as he lifted his hands, staring where flecks of rock dust clung to his palms. He had—his fingers twitched, curling into that animal pose as thoughts turned mutely in his numb mind—struck down a summoner. Her eyes, her body splayed across the floor—Lenne's eyes, Lenne's body.

Beside her—the pain, the blast, the cold—his bo—

A whorl of color burst from his palm. With a quiet, deadened stab of realization, he knew instantly what it was.

The pyrefly drifted upward with a musical woosh, echoing harshly in this ice forest. Slowly, he turned his head to follow it. He dragged from his mind the image of the pyreflies, drifting away over the horizon as a crack of lightning split them and how easily he remembered—the bodies they drifted from, the rain, a blurry smile, the reflection of the light off of Lenne's glassy eyes.

Another pyrefly seemed to appear from nowhere, a third flitting from his stomach, making him gasp and step back. With little swishes of air they circled him, pirouetted close as he watched, gravitating toward him.

He wasn't sure how long he watched them. He wasn't sure how long he waited before he started to walk. He wasn't sure where he was going, where he was, where this path of ice led.

He was only sure of the pyreflies, her face, and how he no longer seemed to feel the cold.

\---

After hours of silent trudging, the path deposited him between a set of cliffs, the pale beginnings of sunlight slipping through to meet him. Blinking them away, he found flat land spread out before him: the tundra, shadowed yet undeniably sun-scorched, just as it had been when he'd had Gagazet at his back. He glanced over his shoulder, down the slope at his heels. The way to Bevelle was down that path, and that forest (dead and glittering as the innkeeper's smile) was one he had crossed to get there. He couldn't help but notice of the lack of war machines marring the road.

His feet carried him onto the field, pulling him along as the sun rose, hovered, set. Fiends seemed to spring from the earth and he fled from in answer, enduring every lucky claw and spit of poison that found his retreating back (he'd been wrong before; he could still feel pain). He swore he met twice as many fiends as when he'd crossed toward Bevelle, and most of them twice as strong. However, even as he collapsed from exhaustion and crawled into the safest hovel he came across, he was set to pressing on; his destination, it seemed, had become as certain as it was unconscious.

In his sleep he saw Lenne fall again. Saw her die. Once, twice—

She would be waiting there for him, and the thought kept him through a night of cold sweats and agony.

The fields gave way to packed earth and rock, and soon enough he was mounting a steep path, eyes following the arch of earth to a crawling sheet of frost and a clouded peak. Even as a storm raged around it, he knew what lay beyond like the texture of a blitzball, the reflection of one-thousand lights off a night sky as bright as day. Gagazet, looming over him, and it drew him closer.

Even with the howling wind that threatened to pull him off of those ledges and the powerful fiends that slowed his passage, the mountain was too quiet. More than once he found himself stopping, blinking into the flurry and thinking he'd seen the flash off a metal plate, a machine-colored mass disappearing into the thick of the blizzard. (He saw one in full, once: a blue and yellow _thing_ with spiked shoulders and sword arms, plinging and chittering as they caught sight of each other; a flurry of snow blasted through and separated them before either could even begin to charge.) He picked up speed, even as snow and wind pushed him back. He jumped and spun when he spotted a rainbow flicker at the corner of his eye, but it too was gone when he turned, swallowed up into the wall of white. The visions grew more numerous and the storm harsher as he approached the peak, until his eyes seemed frozen in his face and his limbs could barely move. And yet he climbed, reacting too slowly and only barely dodging the onslaught of violent, floating monsters, dragons, demons with impossibly wide grins.

He was retreating from just such a beast (what he could only described as a red-eyed, rampaging hellhound), stumbling backward and casting sparks of thunder spells with shaking fingers, when he began to realize that something was amiss. Just as he was draining the last drops of power from his magic reserves, the raging beast stopped in its tracks, tongue lolling and empty eyes blinking stupidly. Then, just as quickly as it had given chase, the fiend turned and fled, bounding through the snow after much less existent prey.

Staring dumbly after it, Shuyin let his hand fall to his side, the trickles of magic itching as they pulled back from his fingertips. Only then did he notice the blood pounding in his head, the ringing in his ears. He looked side to side, scanning his surroundings, the cliff and boulders he had stumbled across. Respite from the wind. Quiet.

No, not quiet. He turned, finding canyon-esque walls stretching up on either side of him, a strikingly familiar set of pillars at his back. That, however, was not where his attention rested. Trying to adjust his wind-battered ears, he squinted at the wall of the fissure as it curved, listening closely.

Music.

Snow gave way to light brown rock as he jogged down the path, pushing against the decrepit gray pillars as he went. A few more steps and a ghostly blue light slid into his view, casting itself placidly against the rock wall, beckoning curious travelers (he faltered for only a moment, and blamed fatigue). He rounded the bend, the wind deadened nearly to silence, the snow gone, the ethereal refrain drawing him forth.

And ethereal, Shuyin realized, was an appropriate word for what he found.

People. Backs arching, shoulders hunched. Arms curled tight against their bodies or stretched wide, reaching for those beside and against them. Flowing, bright clothes. A mass of limbs and bodies, twisted, slumped. All buried in solid rock.

He seemed to stagger backward and forward all at once, jaw dropped, eyebrows furrowed, mind clicked along as quickly as it could. He sidestepped, circling, moving slowly as if to not wake a dangerous animal. Blue liquid—no, mist, steam—flowed over their backs, twirling between dark and light hair, clothed and bare skin. And the music, the once gentle sound turned eerie and frightful in the space of a stolen gasp, was coming from them, falling in and out with the drifting of the mist.

He didn't need to think about it. There was no question in his mind, no need to consider it—the realization came in a flash-bang, like a firework or ballistic tearing open his mind and echoing the feeling in his guts. They were—

He felt the blue fog licking along his ankle and jerked, nearly falling on his backside as he scrambled to get away. In the space of his movements an even brighter light caught his eye, and he froze where his gaze landed. A spiral of concentrated mist, swirling upward to a needlepoint and into mountain clouds.

The mist pulsed. He jerked back as if scorched, his whole body carrying itself on the recoil. It liked him. Or it hated him. The music grew louder, drifted, swished in and out and held something deep inside that he couldn't hear properly but—it wanted him. It wanted him like all the others.

Zanarkans. All of them.

The rest of his journey was made at a gallop.

\---

Tearing around a curve in the path, Shuyin found the blackness of the cavern giving way a blinding, haggard hollow of white. Dodging an ahriman that swept into his path, he stumbled headfirst through the cave's mouth, charging into the sunlight. He grunted, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to smother the scars of blue and green and white that burned across his vision. He stumbled forward, wiping viciously at tears blooming in his eyes.

He thought that the beast before him, too, was a trick of his blinding, until he gave it a second glance.He froze, hands fixed to his face; it shook its monstrous, spike-circled head, rancid breath billowing from its mouth like smoke. Orange sunlight reflected off armor-like scales extending up its back, reaching to what he could only half-discern as wings. Beady eyes glowed bright blue in its minuscule head—he could feel them focused, unmoving, on him.

In an instant, Shuyin was moving again, his feet launching him over a ledge at the far side of the cliff.Rock and earth met his feet—that, he could hardly comprehend. As far as he looked down the slope he saw no hint of a building, glass, metal. Silence filling the air outside the dump-tap-click of pebbles tumbling down the slope. He tried to glance up to where he knew would find towering skyscrapers, the reflections of glittering bridges off monstrous water features. However, the sun caught the corner of his eye and rocks jumped into his path, forcing his gaze down. Only when he reached the base and found himself amongst a field of dust and boulders was he able to lift his eyes.

What roiling there had been in his gut was magnified in an instant. This, he knew, was sector D—or, more accurately, where sector D should have been. Turning toward the ocean, toward the sun, he could see nothing but rock and dirt, bloated mounds of earth and—

His eyes widened. Slowly, he started to walk, taking it in from a distance, drawing in details. Girders, bent in half. Shattered windows glittering through grime, shards of glass cracking beneath his feet. Empty trenches where canals should have been, a food cart upended within one. Rubble. Remains. Not a human in sight.

His feet carried him of their own volition. They caught on twisted sheets of titanium, door frames half-buried in the earth, broken machinery and ruined cloth. The head of a statue stared at him as he passed. The ground opened up and he skidded to a halt on grime-covered concrete, and his eyes fell upon the heart of Zanarkand. His own fell, like a stone, through the pit of his stomach.

Buildings stretched toward the sky like the twisted fingers of a shattered hand. Gutted, walls cracked, gouges opening up the structures like festering wounds. He could hear the sea wind whistling through the streets and building hollows, against walls as yellowed and pocked as old bone. Some buildings were half-collapsed, held together by tattered scraps of metal, leaning heavily against their neighbors. Even those that stood in their near entirety radiated emptiness.

And Zanarkand—the city of his birth, the city of his life—made no sound.

After a long, silent moment, watching the buildings gathered dusk from the setting sun, his feet began to move. They carried him through the dust and the grime—he passed through the halved remains of a fountain, accouterments gone and old rain water growing stagnant in the pool. A pyrefly found him there, whisking past his face, its tail drifting over his cheek. He drew back instinctively, only to watch it flit away through the ruins, disappearing into the sun.

The air was thick with them when he reached the shattered main thoroughfare, casting their strange, eerily beautiful light against what was left of Zanarkand. The fiends came with them, bulky bodies lumbering through the wreckage. Not a sign of human life drifted through the growling of monsters, the swirl of the pyreflies. The creak of emptiness.

He found a hill that had never before existed as he rounded a ruined block. A crude and well-worn path wormed its way over the face of it, leading up to the empty walls of Gagazet; he followed it without hesitation or care. The dust of the mountain passed beneath his feet, the endless shifting of pyrefly light guiding his steps. At his back, the destruction stretching on for miles, up and out beyond sight.

He trudged over trauma-blasted gravel (the beast of the mountain let him pass; he saw, now, how it gazed at him with the eyes of a comrade), the slippery rocks of the cave, the crunching snow of the mountain path. There, what he'd once thought was music found him again, twisted into a sad, mournful croon. Heavy feet rounded the corner, and there it stood, solid even in the midst of that drifting blue smoke, ooze, whatever it was. His footsteps drifted into stillness. If there was any sort of beating left in his chest those bodies made it stumble, crawling heavily into his throat even as he tried to fight it back. His gaze dragged over them, one by one—turned away from him, enshrined in this wall as if drowned by molten rock. He couldn't see a single face, no mouths to speak or ears to hear or eyes to show that they'd ever been alive.

Were these the dead? Those that had been killed by the onslaught and left in the ruins to—no. No, that wasn't it. It couldn't be. He let his eyes drift over these people, the meticulous way they'd been placed, adjusted and lovingly fit together like the pieces of a broken mirror.

At first he only saw the arm. Dark beneath the flowing film of blue, it stretched lazily down from its perch, the tips of its fingers pressed shallowly into the rock. Not grasping. Waving.

Then it was the wrist bands, the yellow cuffs with—that symbol, the broken hook. His eyes grew wide, the cold biting at them as he jerked his head up. The yellow and black of that shirt, that head shaved to the roots. The one he'd found in his stomach during scrimmages, the back he watched swim for the goal a thousand times. A drunken laugh carried to him as if on the wind.

The heels of his hands screamed as he collapsed to the rocks and retched. The pyreflies surged through him like frozen blood, pumped by a dead heart. His legs seized and finger spasmed, knuckles stiffened to popping, his fingernails tearing off as they dug into the path. He heaved again, dry, his stomach aching with the effort, his lungs screaming for breath he couldn't find. His mind filled with red, a barely-remembered pat on the back, a whisper of a chuckle in his ear—then her face again, brighter and clearer than it had ever been, blinding red folding over and through her like blood exploding in his eyes.

He coughed, sobbing thickly as saliva clung to his lips. Tears burned his eyes, dripped down his nose, fell to the soiled ground.

On hands and knees, face to the ground, he screamed. The winds of Gagazet, every merciless, drowned him out.

\---

He did not find her in Macalania Forest. He did not find her in the fields. He did not find her in the plain of thunder, the far-off Northern coasts, the abandoned and broken settlements. And so he walked on.

The fiends grew weaker the further he traveled south—further, he reasoned, from the devastation, the brokenness and the hate (it was years before he realized how wrong he was). He flinched the first time he found gold on a fiend—gold, a sort of rough-hewn coins he'd never seen before and yet could not mistake their obvious markings—tumbling from its rotted body as it bursts into pyreflies. Every fiend he fought he found more besides: money, potions, spheres, bits of armor. These were not people who expected their deaths. He pocketed the gold, drank the potions, and moved on.

Beyond that empty tundra, down the cliffs that built its borders and toward the plateaus that jutted into the sea, ruins stood waiting. Not as shattered as Zanarkand, but just as empty and abandoned, crumbling beneath the heavy hand of age and rot. South of tree-village (where, he discovered with a shiver, they tended to the hungry maw of the Farplane), he found a city collapsed into the waters of the nearby river, pyreflies dancing atop the surface. He was shaken with it long after he passed in search of a place to forge—even when it was at its shallowest, he swore he saw the reflection of the ruins beneath his feet, lost in the swirling mud.

He picked up names. The Thunder Plains, Kilika, Luca, the Moonflow. He turned his fiend-money over to an old, toothless shopkeeper in exchange for a map and sword. Sitting in the dust at a thin road's edge, gritting his teeth, he found the world (Spira was what they called it now, and as hard as he tried Shuyin could not understand why) to be infinitely larger than he had remembered. Several hours of combing broken, drifting memories told him he'd traversed less than a fraction of it.

It would take years, centuries. He walked on.

He watched the world change. At first, the people were just like the plant-innkeeper and her cohorts had been: quiet, small, skittish. Never wanting to answer if a woman named Lenne had passed by, scrambling from him like frightened insects, wishing him away with rushed pleasantries.

(After several years, he stopped speaking to them. Several more, and he stopped saying her name.)

In those days, he discovered the impossible source of their fear. As he passed a tent settlement on the Southern Road, it emerged from the ruins beyond the shore, blocking out the setting sun. Minutes later, he'd drifted out of consciousness, the screams around him lost to deafness as he gazed at a body shattered against the earth.He wondered if Spira was even the same world.

Paths became wider, travel-beaten, solidifying into roads. With them came roadside priests, barking and preaching in what rapidly became the same language, each with a familiar spin on their lectures. “The abomination,” he remembered a nondescript concept of a priest crying at a blurred crowd (a memory he held onto quite long, in fact, before it no longer mattered), “has not been brought upon this world by any hand but our own! The sloth, the strife of our father's fathers, who quarreled and killed by heinous invention! The evil that rests still in your hearts, the hearts of your children. As long as this pox, these spots of sin exist within you, it will return to wreck the havoc which your own blackness casts upon the world! Turn to the arms of Yevon. In the north, in the chasms of the holy Zanarkand, Lady Yunalesca has revealed to us the path to atonement. Follow the path of the almighty Yevon. Clear your hearts of sin, and let it plague Spira no more!”

That priest vanished and was replaced fivefold, old men and old women, little girls in religious regalia. Soon they didn't need to preach in the road like sideshow lunatics—they looked out at him from shops, street corners and path ends, their smiles eerily serene and small. _Have you found the path of Yevon_? they inquired, for a time. Then, two-hundred years after the death of Zanarkand (a traveling historian had told him that, had looked at Shuyin as if it were something that he, personally, should have been well aware of), they no longer needed to ask.

Yevon came from Bevelle. Bevelle, the city of the dead, built upon the backs of monstrosities that would—did—tear his people to shreds—they worshiped Yu Yevon. Prayed to Yunalesca. Relied—he thought back, back to nearly being Sent, and even that was beginning to blur—on summoners.

Spira built temples for them. Their summoners, their Yevon faith. They took years to construct them, creating things of majesty, gigantic, ornate to house the Fayth.

Fayth. They—Spira, _Bevelle—_ had their own, now.

He walked on. Through a settlement to the east of Macalania, when he learned of the summoners' pilgrimages. To an island west of the main continent when he learned how many had failed. To the base of Gagazet when he met the Ronso, who gnashed their teeth and tossed him violently from what was now the sacred pilgrimage path (he could never return home now, if it was home at all). In Luca when he heard town gossips whisper of a certain priest, banished to die in the emptiness of the eastern ocean. Begging for a boat ride to the mysterious territory of Bikanel when he realized the Al Bhed (who Zanarkans had known as gypsies with fast fingers and faster minds—made of gears, everyone said, full of alchemy etchings) had long taken to self-inflicted exile. Djose, where he saw a girl no older than fourteen emerge from the temple, two men who shared the curve of her nose and cheek following close at the shoulder where she balanced a summoner's staff. (Her face was bright, smile exuberant—he saw her face slathered with blood, heard her head crack against a plate of metal, felt the empty space where she could not scream.)

But none of it mattered, because he couldn't find her.

Three-hundred years of searching, and nothing. Women who looked like her, spoke like her—for years he felt his heart expanding into his throat at the sound of a similar voice, a mane of dark hair, only to find women with noses too large or crossed eyes giving him the mean, suspicious look that came so naturally to Spirans. He began to look into the faces of every summoner he passed—she _would_ return to those ways, he thought, a pang in his heart as warm and painful as a knife in a blanket. Spira's meager medical huts, nuns' quarters, even the ranks of Crusaders. He listened for her singing. Anywhere. Everywhere. And he found nothing.

Soon enough, with equal parts dread and anticipation, he began listening for her voice within the Hymn of the Fayth. Maybe—maybe she had not emerged as he had. Perhaps a knowledge of the spirit, a stronger heart than his own had guided her to peace. Maybe—he thought, once, twice, every time he passed Guadosalam, throwing his gaze over his shoulder and staring back for he couldn't count how long—maybe, maybe, maybe.

But.

Lenne. If he went—if he went, and she wasn't there, he could never—

He walked on, and wanted nothing more than to fall.

\---

His feet were slowly being caked with the dust of what was now called the Mi'ihen Highroad when it happened.

The sun was high. Birds chirped serenely, perched in the rusting innards of ruins that lined the road. The fiends were sparse today—only a few fangs and a wayward floating eye ventured across his path, and he could dispatch them as soon as look at them.

He was headed to the closet thing Spira could claim to a civilization: Luca, where houses stood in the place of huts, a stranger could find a bed, and the gentle slope of a miniscule blitzball stadium dominated the skyline. From there, he would go south—to Kilika, to Besaid, the tiny islands off the tip of the continent and over the edge of nowhere. Two of the few places he had not yet looked, islands of oft-told beauty, serenity, and now the tiniest scrap of hope.

And yet. His eyes were blurry, bloodshot from lack of sleep, and the dry air and trail dust did little to soothe them. He tried to shake it off. Horrible things nested in his mind, flashes of visions and dark thoughts and _what if she's not what if she's not she won't she won't_. Shakily, he sighed, forcing his eyes up as he came around a cliff. The sun burned them as he squinted into the distance; the road, stretching on almost endlessly, seemed to mock him.

It was then, straining to see any small sign of the path's end, of good fortune _for once_ , that something else caught his eye.

A covered wagon stood at the side of the road, canvas painted with a great, swirling scrawl he could not read. Through the front opening, he could make out an odd series of goods, piled high and hooked to the canvas' supports—pans, tarps, a few half-hidden things that looks suspiciously metal. It was those at the wagon's side, however, that slowed his steps.

A woman, short, goggled, sun-bleached blonde, stood speaking with two nondescript men. Towering over her, their broad backs faced the road, and as Shuyin watched they drew tight together, all but surrounding her. She stepped back, pressing herself against the cart, nervous fingers twitching against the wood.

The hair on the back of Shuyin's neck seemed electrically charged. He drew closer. They did not notice. One of the men hunched forward, pointing an angry finger in the woman's face. His partner snatched her chin. She jerked back. They grabbed the front of her jacket and yanked her back, hard, latching onto her goggles and ripping them from her face. She struggled—they grabbed her cheeks, held her head still, looked into her eyes.

One cracked her across the face. The other flung her against the cart's wooden wall. “Al Bhed scum!” the second growled, kicking her in the back. She screamed as she fell, and the other promptly buried his boot in her stomach.

He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up. She clawed, swore, cried, and they punched her again.Yevonite turned to Yevonite, and Shuyin could see the wicked peal of their grins. “Make fun toys though, eh?”

Step. Raise. Swing.

“Better fiend foo—”

Shuyin's sword stopped, with a thick squelch, halfway through the man's back. Spine split beneath the blade like a licorice rope. The man barely had time to scream, collapsing in a heap as Shuyin kicked him in the small of the back, dislodged his weapon, turned to the other man and slashed.

_You._

The man stumbled back, skin pale enough to match his wide eyes. His hands clamped over the gash running from his shoulder to his side. That shock, however, was quickly replaced with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth; shakily, he lifted a pair of ornate daggers from his belt. “Al Bhed lover, huh?” he hissed, bulk shifting into a pitiful battle stance.

Shuyin hefted his sword, his vision focusing to a pinprick on this man, this _monster_. The man pitched forward as Shuyin swung—Shuyin felt one of those knives dig between his ribs, and did not care. His head slammed down against the brute's, light bursting in his eyes as the man stumbled back. Head swimming, he met that slitted snake's gaze.

_You. Yevon. Bevelle. Monsters._

They took the summoners as it suited them, ignored and buried their origin. Called Zanarkand their holy land.

He was aware, at the edge of that buffer surrounding him, of the blades sinking into his skin, slicing his face and arms and stomach. The man tossing some sort of potion over Shuyin's shoulder, fumbling for another. But he _felt_ the hilt of his sword cracking the man's nose, the resistance that shivered through him as blades clanged together. The howls reverberating through flesh and steal. The bellows of a beast.

_You took her. You killed her._

The man tumbled back gracelessly, lurched like a crippled dual fang. Shuyin swung wide. His sword clanged harshly against the two short knives, and a quick and desperate twist took the longer blade with them, launching it out of reach. The man smirked in what he thought was victory. Shuyin's fist wiped it from his face.

_I couldn't save her from you you yo—took her I couldn't save can't never—_

The man stumbled back, grip around his blades momentarily limp. Shuyin advanced without thought—his reality was the blow that destroyed the man's teeth, the puff of dust as that body collapsed to the ground. He crashed down on top of the monster, knee in its chest, and struck again.

_Couldn't save, you killed—_

Nose snapped. Cheeks bruised. Eyes grew black and swelled shut.

Soon, bloated, covered in blood, it seemed the Spiran had no face at all.

_I co—save killed h—_

_I—killed her._

Something cracked against the back of Shuyin's head. He flew forward, pops of light obliterating his vision as his fist struck the earth. A shaky, frantic hand on his shoulder flung him to the ground, gravel digging into his skin, dust savaging his lungs. He whirled and stumbled to his knees, gazing through black spots at the man he had downed first, the bloody, half-breathing shell of his partner already jerked onto his shoulders. _Ha._ What a potion could do.

Shuyin dragged himself to his feet. The man frantically tore a packet open with his teeth, pressing the contents through his friend's bulbous lips. The shell twitched, face shrinking enough for its eyes to open. Shuyin limped a step or two, leaned down, picked up the sword he'd landed beside.

They were gone before he could right himself. Throwing profanity over their shoulders, they turned and stumbled down the road, each desperately feeding the other potions as they hobbled through the dust. They grew quicker with each wound they lost, and soon they were gone, vanishing over a hill like so many waves of mirage. Shuyin silently watched them go, the taste of copper on his lips.

“ _T-Tasuh . . ._ ”

He stumbled slightly, missing his sheath by an inch, and turned toward the wagon. The Al Bhed woman sat, hunched and curled against the wooden wheel. She shivered in the prairie grass, face white beneath her bruises, blackened eyes focused unblinkingly on him.

He limped forward, reaching out to her. He was met with an ear-piercing shriek.

“ _Tasuh!_ ” she bellowed, launching off the wagon and into the road. Her feet seemed to skim the earth as she ran, carrying her away in a wave of dust and fear. In a blink she was gone, racing around the cliff-side and leaving her goods to rot.

He watched the spot where she had gone. Then, slowly, unsteadily, turned again toward Luca.

\---

They tortured him in his sleep, when he was at his weakest.

They showed him that same vision, over and over, sharpening it with each passing burst. He saw himself play—saw her fall, her face—heard the music and her shout, felt the soldiers come, and he was locked into his actions, over and over and over and over and—

It was all sharper than the day it had happened, colors harsher and visions brighter, drops of red stretching tendrils across wet paper. He knew they were there, swooshing beside his ear, drifting over his chest and face as he lay helpless. Watching him without eyes, more every night. _Reminding him_. He could only watch.

_Lenne. Lenne I—_

He jerked awake as the door to his Lucan hotel room smashed open. He whipped to the side, saw them race in—the girl he'd spent the night with (long brown hair but _green_ eyes) screamed as they knocked him from his rented bed. He shouted, swore. They threw him to the ground, gagged him, covered his eyes.

From one hell, to another.

\---

“Animosity toward the ideals of Yevon will not be tolerated.”

Shuyin blinked through the familiar dizziness of osmose, fighting back unconsciousness, twisting his wrists where they'd been cuffed. An old, falsely-important looking man sat at a desk before him, eyes flicking between paperwork and Shuyin with poorly disguised contempt.

A shadow cast itself over Shuyin, shielding his eyes from meager light. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side. Shaky, watery concentration showed him a harshly sculpted nose, a square jaw, narrowed eyes with one paltry bandage beneath. “An assault,” that old voice grumbled, “on the son of an officiate of Yevon is an assault on Yevon itself. Guard,”—a fingersnap, the sound of shuffling boots—“have this man transported to Bevelle immediately, to be sentenced for his treason.”

Treason. Against Bevelle.

Shuyin felt the sound of his own cackling before pain and darkness rushed in to fill him.

\---

He awoke in the back of a transport wagon. Blinking slowly at the foul-smelling boards he was splayed across, Shuyin tried to sit up, finding his wrists still bound. His head bumped the wood as the racket of bouncing wheels met his ears. The driver pressing his beast on. The smell of mildew, and the jangle of metal bars.

Careful not to agitate his light head or any bones his assailants might have broken, Shuyin delicately rolled onto his side, looking around. It was a transport wagon, all right—diagonal, crosshatched bars surrounded him, attached at the corners to beams of wood. Through them, he could see the Djose coastline, dark and dank and rolling slowly by. Bevelle. Yes, he remembered: to Bevelle, to be tri— _sentenced._

He turned his head, cricking his neck until he could get a good look at the driver's chair. The backs of three heads greeted him through the bars, tilting as their owners' conversation was swallowed by the rattle of the wheels. Distracted, not paying much attention to their low-life prisoner.

Wincing with the simple effort, Shuyin drew himself up, shuffling until he was propped against wagon's back wall. Carefully pulling his arms in, he closed his eyes and reached into his mind. How long had he slept? How _well_ had he slept? If he didn't have enough left in him, then—but he needn't have worried. He swallowed a sigh of relief when he felt the smallest drops of magical stamina eeking through him, recollecting after that long-since-cast osmose. He threw a smirk at the drivers. Far be it from these _people_ to learn anything.

He cast silently, feeling his bindings smolder beneath the fire spell, close enough to singe his wrists. The rope broke apart like so much rotted straw as he bit down on a pained hiss, twisting free. He took only a moment to rub his pained wrists, pointedly watching his bumbling captors, before he tucked them back out of sight and looked about the mesh that encased him.

Would they kill him? They'd try, then find out what he was and bring out one of their stolen summoners to finish the job, Send him away and he couldn't escape—or maybe not. Maybe they'd exile him like that priest, send him into the deepest, darkest backwaters of Spira and he would be trapped there, never able to find her.

Something to the right caught his eye. There, just a few feet away from him—glancing cautiously to the front, he scooted closer, bending his head to glance at the junction of the wagon bed and the mesh. A few slim bars, rusted and cut just the slightest few inches. Not big enough for any prisoner to get through, not worth repairing, but—he pushed at it, shook it as quietly as he could. It gave, if only slightly.

Throwing a tense glance toward the front, he held his hand close to the bars, draining magic from himself like the last drops of juice from a rind. He concentrated hard, fira raging against his fingers as he fought to focus it in just the right spots (she could do it, he knew, like it was nothing, and with a smile). The bars sizzled, a crooked, red-hot line running through them. Not caring who saw, he rose to his feet, eyes narrowed.

He was never going back to Bevelle.

The entire wagon shook with the force of his kick. A shot from right in front of the goal, the goalie staring back with well-placed trepidation. Whatever beast of burden they'd put to work hauling him squawked and the wagon jerked, the drivers scrambling over each other to see what was happening. Another kick: side-court. The metal bent outward, bars snapping where fira had cut, but not enough. He heard his captors behind him, shouting, trying to get their animal under control.

One last kick. Twist, jump, spin back. Full court.

With a screeching crack, the last stubborn bars snapped, bent up and out just far enough. In an instant, he was scrambling through the opening, hissing as ragged edges tore his skin and still-hot metal burned him. He hit the packed earth rolling. Up, tripping for his balance—the wagon shook, his captors screamed.

Blood hammered in his ears, the earth pounded against his feet. He shook off dizziness and ache, shooting straight as a lightning spell back toward Mi'ihen—but not as fast.

Magic exploded in the back of his shoulders, ripping a scream from his throat and bouncing him off a pillar of stone. He pushed away from it, powering through a demanding limp and throwing a panicked glance over his shoulder.

They were on him, clumsy and slow but better armed. A fat ice crystal buried itself in a section of the overhang, Shuyin just able to duck its razor end. He dodged. A fire spell burst into life where his torso had been. Jaws of water snapped closed over his head—he choked, gagged, shook, stumbled.

Half tripping, half springing, Shuyin flung himself around a corner and through a cleft in the rock. Nearly tumbling from an uneven, precariously raised pillar of stone to the ground below, he scrambled upright and tore down the treacherous path. A wooden ladder led to the next level, and at the top he dropped to his knees, trying to wrench away the grounding stakes. A lightning spell crashed down his front, knocking him back. All but instantly they were on him, snatching as he leapt up, tried to kick—

From nowhere came a speeding, spinning blur of red, slamming into the closest man's chest. Shuyin had half an instant to stare in bewilderment, his assailants bouncing together like pinspheres, before the circle of red arched down and headed straight for him. His hands came out instinctively, fingers expertly plucking it from the air. Red and black leather met his eye, vicious curved spikes granting it a sinister spine. His. His _blitzball_.

He barely had time to notice a familiar rainbow flickering over its surface before the men were stumbling up, bewildered and enraged as confused grendels. Shuyin wasted no time leaping to his feet and vanishing from their easy grasp, skirting frantically over the precarious path.

His lungs dragged in air like those of any living man. His ears pounded with imaginary blood. His ankles ached as his feet collided with the rock. He threw the ball over his shoulder, catching it expertly when it bounced back off his targets, sending them tumbling into each other and making their curses grow louder.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he found them at a curve in the road blind to his position; without thinking he leapt down, stumbling onto a lower platform, another and another. He hit the shadowed ground beneath the mushroom-shaped rocks and bolted into the forest of stone, dodging amongst the pillars. He heard swearing behind him, cursing his very being, and a rock exploding not far to his right.

He took a wrong turn. An antechamber of stone greeted him as he stumbled through a squat tunnel, the mouth of a cave buried in what would have otherwise been an unapologetic dead-end. Swearing under his breath, he threw his gaze over shoulder, instantly thinking of backtracking—then his pursuer’s long shadows cast against the ground at the tunnel's other end, faint voices growing louder and closer.

Feet practically glancing off the pebbled floor, Shuyin darted through the cavern entrance, fleeing through the blackness. Clumsily finding the wall, he felt along it until it turned a corner, pressed himself down at its base, buried himself there.

Hand clamped over his mouth (why did he even need to breathe, he was—), back against the stone as if willing himself to become one with the natural architecture, he listened silently to their approaching footsteps. He heard them enter the chasm. He could practically feel the wrathful squint of their eyes on the back of his neck, drilling into him, trying to draw him out. He silently compelled, with all his might, the pyreflies to keep hidden.

A snarl met his ears, loud enough to find him even as he felt the men shift backward. For half an instant, his heart began to lift, a sigh of relief building beside it.

“Treacherous non-believer!” one of the men bellowed, voice old but sure, strong enough to crush that feeling of lightness between each word. “However far you run, you shall not escape the divine justice of Yevon!” Shuyin closed his eyes, bit his palm, and waited for these wrathful children to leave him be.

He heard those footsteps grow fainter, the voice grow silent, felt the smallest of smiles grow across his lips—and then felt the rocks shift. His eyes flew open; he couldn't stop himself from turning, pressing his hand to the wall and—was this an earthquake? What was—?

“Let this,” he heard roared over the shivering stone, like the voice of a maniac god, “be your punishment!”

The cave seemed ready to shake apart, the vibrations set upon his bones—he flung himself around the corner, tumbling in a flurry of shuddering limbs, stared toward the entrance.

Only a fraction of it remained, the sides drawing together, light crushed between them—letting him see only the Spiran on its other side, arms raised high, hellfire in his fingers.

“Let this be your _penance_!”

The entrance slammed shut, light sliced to nothingness, and cast Shuyin into unending blackness.

\---

He hears voices, turns his head.

They are faint. The pyreflies graze the stone. He can feel the gentle movement of the entrance's impossible lock being stripped. Many voices, many hands.

The lock that he has never seen but always known swings home, drops away in a flurry of magic. He smirks. Crosses his legs beneath him. Waits.

Only a few stumble in at first. Young, fresh-faced murderers—the pyreflies glance over the swords and guns at their sides. The Spirans are savages as they ever were, and just as pompous.

More drift in when their brothers survive. His eyebrows rise with the corners of his mouth. So many, and for him? Or for they knew not what? Cowardly, and stupid.

His own music plays in his mind, vivid, clear. More real than he is. Lenne's dead eyes stare back into him. Gone, where he cannot go. The pyreflies, chains holding him to these walls, yank him open and feast upon him with gentle strokes and coos.

Cackling, crying, he sets on those Spirans the chains they built for him.

They are dead within minutes. Swords slicing each other's throats and cartridges emptied into comrades' chests. They collapse in meaty heaps upon the floor of his prison, filled with his soul, his existence. The pyreflies and all they hold, all they won't let him be free of—he buries them in the Spirans' minds like spikes.

_Take it back_. _Take back what you have given me_. _Can never get back what you've taken._

A man screams as he cuts down his brother, and a bayonet buries itself in his temple. Shuyin lets his head loll back. They will leave. Any that remained outside will seal this place again, and he cannot fight his way free. No true legs to walk, no body to carry him, no substance to shake off his chains. He closes his eyes and—

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Shuyin whips his head to the side, but it is not his own. He blinks with the eyes of a spirit, but feels flesh behind them, supporting him like the framing of a shack. With this other's eyes, he looks into those of a woman—they burn red as carbonizing blood, bright with fear. Fear. Not his anguish.

He feels through this resting place, this weakened but living body. Thick, stocky. The mind is robust, and it draws back from Shuyin's madness like a hand from a flame. Shuyin can feel its heavy breaths. It stumbles up, comrades follow. Survived.

A body—no, three bodies, he feels as they move—three bodies that can hold him.

The woman leads. He does not see her. He sees only the light, feels this body walking toward it.

A laugh grows in his chest, pushing and goading at the flesh he's encased in. He will take it. He will use it. To end this existence where he cannot die.

(He hears his own music, his and Vegnagun's as one. It is a sweet sound.)

_For taking her—_

Three bodies step as one into the sunlight, into Spira.

_Despair._

And for the first time in one-thousand years, Shuyin smiles.


	20. Epilogue

“Hey. This might help.”

Lenne, drifting weightlessly, turns and sees with closed eyes.

Shuyin smiles at her, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. He comes up beside her, handing her a sphere, placing it lightly into a palm she did not know had been waiting. “It’s a video of your last show,” he says, and his grin makes her heart flutter like a winged thing. She doesn't notice, at first, how cold the sphere is in her hand.

It flickers to life; Zanarkand spreads out before her, flowing like water beneath the static, beautiful and soundless. She looks up at him, brows tilted. He gives her one of those smiles—happy, unconcerned.

She turns back to the sphere in time to see a hole burst in Zanarkand, eating away at the sky like embers in a sheet of music. Her eyes widen as the world dissolves into blackness, and—

. . . No. Shuyin stands in front of the behemoth, gazing up with reverence. He steps toward it. _No_!

Shuyin plays. The beast opens its massive jaws, the rim of the glowing cannon pressing through. He lurches forward, gazes at her as she holds her arms wide. The soldiers. The floodlights. His face, his pain, her tears and no words.

His smile. Her smile.

Pressed to the cold floor, he reaches out. _Shuyin, I love you. Shuyin, I—_ her lips grow cold.

“Just do that,” Shuyin says, pointing at the sphere and smiling so wide. “Like you always do.”

She screams his name and whirls around, grasping for him—her hands find only darkness, and her legs give way beneath her. She draws herself close, tears running heavy and hot down her cheeks.

He reaches for her. _I love you, Lenne._

_Shuyin, I—!_

\---

“It’s perfect, Yunie!”

A muggy feeling fills Lenne's mind, the sort brought on by too much sleep or fine Lucan wine.

“Well, it's nice, but . . . don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

Slowly, Lenne opens her eyes, her vision a mess of blurs. Browns, silvers and blues—she blinks as furiously as her groggy facial muscles will allow, focusing more with each. Shapes grow starker, colors naturally arrange.

“But I’m no songstress,” Lenne hears, and as her eyes finally clear, she finds a woman standing before her. A young woman, a brunette, and Lenne immediately recognizes her own outfit adorning the girl's body. Flattering and well-fit, thinks the small part of Lenne's mind invulnerable to bewilderment.

“Oh, come on, Yunie!” says a girl at her left—blonde, braided, beaded and barely clothed in yellow and green—grabbing the brunette's arm and bouncing excitedly. Lenne feels a grip on her own bicep. “Singing the hymn all those years must have done _something_. You’ve got to be good at singing by now!”

“We’re trying to build an image as sphere hunters,” says a sterner looking one, sheathed in leather. Her hair is an odd shade of silver—eyes, narrow seemingly by nature, are a startling red that Lenne can't help but mark. “That will be hard if Yuna gets held up by her outfit. It’s not exactly practical.”

“Oohh,” says the blonde, looking the dress over, tilting her head from side to side. “I guess you’re right.”

The brunette smiles slightly. The blonde shrugs with great exaggeration, flicking bow-clad wrists. The gray-haired one folds her arms over her chest. Lenne looks at the three of them, trying to understand.

Then, as her eyes move, Lenne sees the wood that frames them, the space behind, the reflecting glass. She—she is looking into a mirror.

“Let’s try something else,” says the brunette, and Lenne's eyes are hers, turning, looking to the others—Lenne's chin moves as she nods again.

The girl lifts her hand, and instantly bathed in soft light. Lenne is pitched, gently, back into the dark.

\---

Her name is Yuna, and she is in love with a boy named Tidus.

The first, Lenne learns quickly. Once she realizes what she is (the word is bitter in her mind, but she accepts the reality as graciously as she can—an _Unsent_ , attached to a sphere), she is not so disturbed when she knows things she should not. The name, naturally, is simple: she hears it every time Yuna wears her dressphere, feels the sense of recognition toward it that Yuna feels.

The second, she is not as comfortable knowing. She may not see the past, is not so parasitic as to leech off of Yuna's memories, but—angry heat dusts her cheeks when she sees Yuna replacing her, holding Shuyin's hand in Lenne's own dream (and how does a girl so young, a girl from this time apparently so far from her own, know Shuyin?). Then, however, she sees that it isn't Shuyin at all. He's too young, too gangly and unsure in his movements, even in a nightmare.

Yuna weeps as she watches him die. Lenne, in her own dream, feels she has witnessed something infinitely too private.

She hears that name, _Tidus_ , feels it appear in Yuna's mind over and over. The searching, the waiting, the false hope and the hurt—Lenne wants nothing more than to hold the hand that she shares.

But it is not Tidus that they find. When Yuna has killed the tainted aeons, as Lenne aches with her and baffles at the strength of a dark power that could corrupt a Fayth, they fall together into the Farplane. They do not find Tidus there, but for an instant, Yuna believes they have. Lenne, lips fallen open, an earthquake shudder in their chest, stares back at him.

“I've finally found you,” he says quietly, gently, and smiles at her. _Shuyin_.

“Is that—really you?” Yuna asks for the both of them.

“It is me,” he says. _Shuyin_ , she answers with him. “I've waited so long, Lenne.” Even as Yuna turns away, her heart aching with the sharp stab of realization, Lenne's part of it swells, their shared eyes misting for entirely different reasons.

But something is wrong. She listens to his quiet approach and gentle voice, softer than it had ever been. He is casual, none of her own overwhelming joy in his speech, no exuberance at their reunion. Calm. Chilling calm.

“While I wandered I realized something. Spira hasn't really changed at all,” he practically whispers. Her heart sinks with Yuna's as the words reach her, digging into their flesh and churning like stone. _Hatred_ , she hears, his voice thick with it. “I'm through waiting,” he says, like a petulant child. Then, sinister, “I'll fix it.”

Yuna's eyes widen. A shiver runs down Lenne's back. Darkness. A powerful, overwhelming darkness, she feels as he draws close.“Vegnagun will make that all go away.”

She sees that cannon pointed at her, at Spira. It reaches out and touches her through his voice.“Help me do it,” he pleads, quietly, and reaches out to take her arm. “Lenne.”

 _Don't touch me_.

Then, in an instant, Yuna is spun and engulfed—pyreflies explode around them, and Lenne is in his arms. He holds her close, cheek against her hair. She sees the way he looks at her as he draws back, feels a sigh in a breathless chest and warmth in his skin as he pulls her close. Something in her stammers like a confused little bird, wings battering the air as it gazes into the sun and—her eyes widen, lungs draw in the tiniest gasp, and she can feel her heart beating.

He rocks with her, the whispering of the pyreflies circling them, and for a moment there is no Yuna. There is only the two of them, laying in the sand; pressed together, slumbering on his couch; holding each other, bruised and aching, in front of her door as if they would never let go.

And she hears his words, those horrible words, echoing in her head.

 _Shuyin._ Her eyes well as they clamp shut, lips twisting, and she leans into his hold. _What have I done to you_?

“Open your eyes!”

The last thing she sees is Shuyin rising, dripping like melting wax from another body, before her eyes close, and Yuna's open alone.

\---

Thunder cracks overhead. Lenne does not flinch, boots quietly scraping the ship's deck as she approaches the brim. Yuna crosses her hands, grips the microphone's neck. Neither smile.

Below, scattered like tarnished beads in a field of gravel, stands their audience. Almost lost in the expanse of rock that makes up these plains, people hiss bitterly at each other, snarl and cross their arms and wave their fists. No packed stadium or screaming fans, Lenne thinks with a tilt of Yuna's head. Political fervor. Abandonment by their leaders. Anger. Fear.

Her fingers tighten around the microphone. Zanarkand flashes before her eyes.

She hadn't said anything, then. Those people, her people—she couldn't. Zanarkand is no more. One-thousand years ago, she lost her chance.

Yuna lifts the microphone to her lips. She will not make that mistake.

“One-thousand years ago, before the time of Sin,” the girl says, Lenne feeding small tokens of feeling and memory into her words, “Spira was torn in two, divided by a terrible war.”

Yuna pauses, closes her eyes, and Lenne grows quiet. Breath fills Yuna's lungs, outlines Lenne's thoughts—drifts like smoke around the notes in her mind. Music, twisting through her heart, coming to her so simply even when her spirit alone remains.

Lightning flashes, thunder claps. “This was Spira's great mistake.” For a moment longer, her eyes stay closed, and Lenne would purse her lips if she could. Through that black, played against the inside of her eyelids, she sees Vegnagun. Breathing, shifting in the darkness. Opening its maw to swallow Spira whole. Shuyin, smiling at her, glaring at them, reaching for her—striding for the beast.

Now, Spira grows brighter with each passing day.That light,” Yuna's voice echoes solemnly, “is our strength. I don't want to see it fade. Do you?”

She could not stop him, then. Could not tell him, could not make him understand. If she had, if she—

“. . . But our hearts can and should always be one.”

Lenne steels herself and, with chin held high, opens her eyes.

“Believe with me,” she and Yuna say. “Even if we are torn apart, our feelings will unite us. That is what this song is about.”

The music starts, quiet, drifting, twirling, perfect. It pulls at her, and she is the notes, spread across the gentle refrain. “ _I know that you're hiding things, using gentle words to shelter me._ ”

She feels herself in the screen at her back, the memories that ran through her in dreams and echoed in her mind with the call of the pyreflies. Her suspicions, her fears, her silence, her failure. She burns the images there, quieter, buried ones fueling them. The empty blankets she awoke to that morning. The way she groped for words and found none, replaced them with a smile that meant nothing. Watching him die, dying to speak. Seeing him there, smiling with none of himself, and knowing he had not heard her.

“ _But now I'm not afraid to say what's in my heart.”_

She throws them all against gentle peel of the instruments, bursting those memories and letting them fly free from her lips. She will not be silent anymore. She will make him hear her.

“ _They'll fly to you, they'll carry you home, and back into my arms—”_

He sits at his instrument, plays every fourth note wrong, and smiles at her. Her pianist, her accompaniment, his song a whisper to the forte that it once was. But she can hear that faint note, and she will sing with everything she is. She will bring him back.

“ _They'll cradle you, turning all of the lonely years to only days—!”_

This song will never fade, so long as she exists. This is their symphony.

“ _They'll hold you forever . . .”_

And she will never, ever let it waver.

_Shuyin._

_I'm coming._

\---

_Every story has an ending._

_Not all of them are happy ones._

_But this one just might be._


End file.
